


Bond

by AnnaFugazzi



Series: Bond [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forced Bonding, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 173,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFugazzi/pseuds/AnnaFugazzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn't make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I'm afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.</p><p>Hee. I think I had a little too much fun writing the above ;)</p><p>So this starts around the end of September of an AU seventh year. I was also assuming that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be in prison very long, what with his various connections with influential people, so he's here too.</p><p>Thanks to Kyllikki, the best beta ever :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. September 29 - October 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn't make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I'm afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.
> 
> Hee. I think I had a little too much fun writing the above ;)
> 
> So this starts around the end of September of an AU seventh year. I was also assuming that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be in prison very long, what with his various connections with influential people, so he's here too.
> 
> Thanks to Kyllikki, the best beta ever :)

...the hell was that?

Harry swam back into awareness, finally focussing on something. The ceiling. The very familiar ceiling of... the hospital wing.

Damn, not again, was his first thought.

How did it happen this time? was his second.

Quidditch? No, he wasn't wearing Quidditch gear, and didn't hurt anywhere other than his head. Not the scar itself but the general area around his... actually, all over his head. Pounding pain behind his eyes, in the back, near his neck...

He heard a faint moan, realized he hadn't made it, looked for its source.

Malfoy. Groaning and looking like he'd just come to, in the bed to the right of him. Promptly surrounded by a press of adults - Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy - what?

"Harry!" Pomfrey glanced over at Harry as a familiar voice spoke from the left side of his bed. Harry turned quickly.

"Professor Lupin?"

Lupin smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need a chocolate," Harry said, disoriented, and Lupin smiled. "What happened?"

Lupin reached into his pocket, taking out a square of chocolate and placing it on the bed next to Harry as Madam Pomfrey bustled over to him.

"How are you feeling, Potter?"

"Fine, I think - my head hurts a bit," Harry began, and she nodded briskly.

"That's to be expected, you were knocked out cold. Here, sit up," she motioned, and put a small bottle of potion on the table next to his bed. "Eat up that chocolate and drink what's in the bottle. What do you remember?"

Harry sat up slowly, still confused. There seemed to be a great many people around - not just Dumbledore, Pomfrey, Lucius Malfoy and Lupin, but McGonagall and Snape as well - and he couldn't focus on any one voice. What was going on?

"Not much - I, I was leaving a classroom, I think..."

"What curse?" Malfoy's voice rose from other be and he sat up. Harry frowned as a rustle of unease went through the adults around him, none of them seeming to want to answer. "What curse?" Malfoy demanded again.

"Boys," Dumbledore said slowly, "I'm afraid you've been... well, bonded."

Silence.

"What?" Malfoy said weakly.

"A bonding spell was on a door you both went through, set to go off in the presence of high emotion. When you walked through it, you were arguing about something, and..."

"No. God, no," Malfoy looked at the adults, his eyes growing wider as each face mirrored the sombre look on Dumbledore's. "That \- that's not possible." He stared at his father, who pressed his lips together and nodded. Silence. "That's... that's fucking - that's insane! No!"

"Draco-" his father began, and Harry felt a flicker of fear as Malfoy interrupted him and scrambled off the bed.

"No! You can't be serious!!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry, but we're absolutely sure," Dumbledore said.

"Fuck! NO!!"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Harry broke in. "What bonding spell?"

Malfoy gaped at Harry. "A bonding spell, you fucking wanker."

Harry glanced from Malfoy to the adults, utterly lost and also more than a little bewildered that no one was saying a word about Malfoy's foul language. He would have expected his father at least to reprimand him, but Lucius Malfoy was looking shaken, almost ill, nothing like the cold collected authority figure he had always been.

"But what - what does that mean?"

"You don't even know - oh, wonderful," Malfoy slammed his fist into his night table and turned away in disgust.

"Potter, bonding is wizard marriage-" Pomfrey began, and Malfoy interrupted her.

"It's a fucking marriage curse, Potter," Malfoy spat. "The curse was on the door, we got caught in it, we're married. What part of that is too difficult for your little Gryffindor brain to grasp?"

"But how can - marriage isn't a curse, how can-"

"Potter. Let me explain," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "In the wizarding world, a marriage is not a marriage until a bonding spell has been cast, binding the two spouses together. Normally this is done voluntarily, much the same way that Muggles make vows-" Lucius made an indignant sound in his throat but didn't interrupt her, "-but unlike Muggle vows, a bonding spell imposes certain behaviour on the spouses. And unlike Muggle vows, a bonding spell can be cast as a curse, without the consent of the two parties. It is of course absolutely illegal to cast such a curse, but it is still binding on the parties."

Harry frowned at her, utterly baffled. A curse that forced people to be _married_ against their will? It sounded like a bad joke. He quickly glanced around the hospital wing, hoping to spot the Weasley twins cackling at the success of their latest hallucination gag.

No such luck. "But that's ridiculous. Love potions, I understand, but how you be forced to be married?"

"The spell compels you to act as spouses. For the first months of the marriage, you need to live together, be near one another almost constantly, do everything a married couple does, or suffer consequences."

"Everything - no, wait-"

"No, that does not always mean consummating the relationship sexually," Pomfrey cut in matter-of-factly. "People can be bonded without being married - it happens with twins sometimes, or very close friends who've decided to enjoy the benefits of a bond without the sexual aspect. But the majority of bonds are also sexual in nature, unless there is a good reason for them not to be."

"Such as hating each other?"

"That's not normally a problem," she said bluntly. Harry gaped at her.

"Mordred, close your mouth, Potter, you look even stupider than usual," Malfoy snapped.

Harry ignored him. "But why would anybody consent to that?"

"There are benefits, of course. Heightened magical powers, that sort of thing. As well as everything else that applies to non-bonded marriage, like companionship, friendship, emotional balance."

"But how can any of that happen if you don't even want this in the first place??"

"The bonding spell helps bring about those benefits by imposing behaviour likely to foster them. Most marriages start from at least the willingness to enter into the marriage, but it's not impossible to make a marriage work out of a forced bonding."

"How??"

"Because you have no choice about the matter, so you make it work," Snape said curtly. "Muggles think it imperative to start with flowers and romance and sickly sweetness to create commitment. Wizards know better."

"How would you know?" Harry snapped before he could stop himself or say it in a semi-respectful tone. But Snape didn't seem to notice.

"Though it is absolutely no business of yours, I was married, Potter. For seven years, happily, to a woman I hardly knew when we bonded."

Malfoy glared at him. "That's completely different!"

"Many wizard marriages start out with nothing else, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said quietly and Malfoy glared at him too. "You know your mother and I barely knew one another before our bonding. You knew something like this would happen some day, you had agreed to marry whomever we chose for you-"

"I agreed because it was supposed to be an alliance that would benefit the family, and, and I knew you wouldn't force me to marry somebody I despised and-"

Lucius grimaced and shook his head. "I know. But you don't have a choice. Calm yourself down-"

"Don't fucking well tell me to calm myself down!!" Malfoy shouted, and Lucius frowned at him, standing up.

"He's upset, Lucius, he needs time to-" Snape started to say but Lucius cut him off, facing his son sternly.

"Draco! You are upset, I can understand that, but that is no excuse for-" Lucius tried to put a quelling hand on Malfoy's shoulder but gasped and pulled back as Malfoy flinched and cried out in pain. "I'm - I'm sorry, I forgot-" he put his hand out, not touching Malfoy, who stared at him in dismay. "Sit down. Please."

Malfoy dropped into a chair, jaw set and hands still clenched.

"I'm sorry," Lucius said softly, and his words and manner chilled Harry thoroughly. He'd never seen Lucius Malfoy treat his son with anything other than cold reserve, and yet here he was, the very picture of a concerned father, looking like he wanted to comfort his son but was unable to figure out how. Oh god. "Draco, I'm sorry," Lucius repeated.

Malfoy put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his head in his hands. Harry looked from one adult to another, his dread growing at their resigned, mournful expressions.

"Wait - don't wizards ever get unbonded?" Harry asked desperately. "Divorced?"

"Both parties must agree to dissolve the bond-" Snape began.

"I think we can safely say we'd both agree-"

"-and only the caster can break the spell. It isn't normally a problem because the casters are the pair in question, but in the case of an involuntary bond..."

"You mean whoever did this to us has to break it? We can't break it ourselves?"

"It's fascinating just how long it takes to get such simple concepts through your thick head, Potter," Malfoy spat, not raising his head from his hands.

"You can rest assured that we will do everything possible to find the person or persons responsible," Snape said, "but the odds of doing so are remarkably slim, unless someone were to step forward and confess. This is a highly illegal spell, Mr. Potter. Nobody will admit to having cast it. And whoever did so will almost certainly cover their tracks."

"But... but I'm not even gay!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes as his father made another tsk of distaste. "Honestly, _Muggles_ ," Malfoy sneered.

"We understand that in the Muggle world there is some confusion about sexual relationships between people of the same sex," Pomfrey began, "but in the wizarding world-"

"I've never heard of a single married gay couple in the wizarding world!"

"You have not been part of our world for long," McGonagall said, "and you have been at school where most of the people around you are not married. It's rare but not unheard of. It's true that many people feel that it isn't terribly responsible of wizards to marry somebody of the same sex, as our birthrates are not as high as they should be, but we don't have the kind of blind prejudice that the Muggle world has."

"'I'm not even gay'" mimicked Malfoy nastily. "Honestly, how completely _Gryffindor_ to focus on the least relevant problem."

"So what's the most relevant problem? The fact that if I have to live with you, I may very well kill you?" Harry shot back.

"That is not a laughing matter, Potter," McGonagall said firmly. "Part of why involuntary bonding spells are so very illegal is that they can result in the spouses murdering one another. It is an extremely stressful situation to be subjected to. You will both need to be closely monitored to make sure that the... animosity between you does not get out of hand and result in serious injury to either of you."

"That doesn't seem like such a bad solution right now," Harry muttered, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Just how stupid are you, Potter? Because you're really reaching new heights here-"

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall cut in. "Kindly shut up." She turned to Harry. "While the bond is new, you are highly attuned to one another's emotions and well-being. If one spouse dies or is seriously injured, the shock is usually enough to kill the other. Especially if the other spouse is the cause of that death or serious injury."

Harry sat back limply.

There was a long silence, finally broken by McGonagall.

"Boys, I think this will take some time for you to accept. I believe it would be best if Madam Pomfrey explains some of what you can expect to go through, while we discuss how best to get you through it in one piece."

"You mean you're going to discuss without us-" " _You're_ going to decide-" both boys spoke over each other in their indignation, and Lucius Malfoy broke in.

"Draco, you're hardly in a position to make any decisions right now. You don't even fully understand what a bonding spell entails," he pointed out.

"That doesn't mean you get to decide everything for me!" Malfoy said hotly, and his father's eyebrows climbed up in surprise. So did Harry's. As far as he'd ever seen, Malfoy's father did decide everything for his son, right down to which classes he took and which people he socialized with. Malfoy had to be in severe distress to even think of rebelling against that.

"Gentlemen, nobody will be making any decisions for you," McGonagall said reasonably. "We will simply discuss possibilities until you can join us with better information about your situation and take part in the discussion." Lucius Malfoy stared at her in surprise as well, and a distant part of Harry's brain reflected that it was actually rather gratifying to see him so off-balance. If Harry hadn't been utterly off-balance himself, he would have found Lucius Malfoy's expression downright hilarious.

"It's all right, Harry," Lupin said gently. "Go, listen to Poppy."

**ooooooo**

Harry climbed into his hospital bed a few hours later, still in a state of numb semi-shock.

Following an extremely disturbing information session with Pomfrey, they'd returned to the adults and worked out the practical aspects of how to live in constant close proximity. Harry was glad Dumbledore had thought to call Remus Lupin in, as the closest thing to a parental figure Harry had at the moment. He'd relied heavily on Lupin' steadiness and good humour through the process of working through their school schedules and living arrangements, the highly distressful discussion about Quidditch, and the growing realization that this was really, really not a joke.

Hermione and Ron, when he'd finally seen them a few hours later, had not been as comforting, through no fault of their own. Their relieved expressions upon seeing him safe and well had changed into horror as they learned of the curse; Ron more so than Hermione, because he'd been raised knowing what a bonding spell was. He'd known enough, for example, to knock Hermione's hand aside when she reached out to give Harry a hug; the curse was supposed to make anybody's touch but a spouse's quite painful for the first few months. But otherwise, they hadn't known what to say to Harry, and their worried and hostile glances at Malfoy, who sullenly ignored them, made Harry all too aware that this was one of his worst nightmares come to life. He hated Malfoy as much as Ron and Hermione did. But unlike them, he couldn't just walk out of the room and avoid him.

Malfoy hadn't asked to have any of his friends visit him in the Infirmary.

Luckily, Harry hadn't had to face stares at the Great Hall, as their dinners were brought to the hospital and they ate as far apart as they could. In fact, so far Harry really didn't see why they couldn't go back to their dorms, as they didn't seem to need to be that physically close. Pomfrey had assured them, however, that actually being in different rooms would be very painful.

And so now here they were. Getting ready for bed, in the hospital. So far they had at least agreed on one thing: they both wanted to carry on as before as much as possible. No taking a few days off to come to terms with this or get to know each other better or any of the other suggestions the adults had made. The Heads of the houses would be explaining the situation to their students tonight after dinner, to answer questions and deal with any misinformation, and they would be going back to classes tomorrow and moving into their own rooms after school.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was already in the next bed and staring up at the ceiling expressionlessly. By tacit agreement, they hadn't said much to one other, except for small snipes as they listened to Madam Pomfrey.

Harry lay down in his own bed, staring at the ceiling himself, thinking of Pomfrey's information. Roughly five or six months of forced contact. Having to be in the same room, within roughly six to twelve feet of each other, to the point that being too far apart would cause them extreme discomfort and eventual collapse if they ignored the urge to come back to each other. Needing to touch every few minutes. Slowly growing sexually aware of one another, then needing sexual contact, within a few weeks of the spell being cast. Being attuned to one another's moods, so that physical or emotional pain or discomfort for one would result in pain and discomfort for the other.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. One of Malfoy's chief pleasures in life seemed to consist of making Harry feel pain and discomfort. Harry would've been quite pleased at the thought of that backfiring on Malfoy if he hadn't been self-aware enough to know that causing Malfoy to feel bad also held a great deal of appeal for him.

And he didn't even want to think about the whole "contact" thing.

So. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Double Potions, first thing in the morning, the same mixed-house class as always. Then, instead of Muggle Studies, he'd attend Transfiguration with the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, then lunch, then back to his own Gryffindor Charms class, with Malfoy now tagging along. Then off to Malfoy's Arithmancy class. Thankfully, Hermione was taking that class too, so she could keep him company and help him catch up. Then for last period he'd be sitting in Malfoy's Ancient Runes class but working on Astronomy, as they'd been unable to compromise on those two and had decided to see if they could just attend their current classes every other day. They were fairly easy classes anyway.

God, how had the world changed so dramatically in one short moment.

Harry sighed. He wanted to be back in his dorm room listening to Ron and Neville and Dean and Seamus' bedtime routines. He wondered what his roommates were doing right now. Were they discussing him? Upset that, just like that, Harry was out of their dorm room and off the Quidditch team? Talking about what it would be like to have to have bloody Draco Malfoy around every time they wanted to see Harry? Wondering what he was doing? Missing him?

He certainly missed them. Missed his home. Missed everything.

Harry turned over, his back to Malfoy, and tried to make himself go to sleep.

**ooooooo**

**Day 2, Wednesday**

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. Where - oh.

Oh, god. He closed his eyes tightly, willing himself back to sleep, desperately hoping he could somehow make whatever he'd been dreaming about real, and this morning's reality a nightmare only.

He opened his eyes again. No. No such luck.

He looked over at the next bed. Potter was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed, and Draco was seized with an almost overwhelming urge to hit him. Hard. For daring to look so untroubled when here they were, in the hospital, facing the first day of the rest of their lives bloody well shackled together.

Draco turned his back to Potter, hoping he could convince himself that he was just in the hospital due to a Quidditch injury. Pushed that thought away, because that made him think about Quidditch and that was too painful to deal with first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, just about everything else that came to mind was also too painful to deal with first thing in the morning.

And it was odd, he thought, how his mind couldn't seem to decide between frantically skittering away from the memory of Pomfrey's information session last night, and rehashing it in excruciating detail. Especially the part about eventually needing to touch one another - and Draco's mouth twisted in disgust, as he felt absolutely no desire to touch Potter right now in any way other than violently. But apparently they'd feel compelled to touch, casually at first, then for comfort, and then, eventually, in a sexual manner. Draco grimaced at that thought too. Not a good image, that one. Not that touching another boy that way was all that disgusting a concept, but Harry Potter of all people. God, how revolting. Only marginally better than touching a Mudblood.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes again. It could have been worse, he tried to tell himself. He could have walked past that bloody door arguing with Hermione Granger.

Actually, no. There wasn't any way of making this any better. Granger would've been awful and a horrible embarrassment to the pure-blooded Malfoy family, but in the end she was just a Mudblood. As long as Draco didn't have children with her (and he would have made sure he didn't) she would've been tolerable. She wasn't the enemy of their family's Lord.

Draco couldn't imagine how their family would survive this blow. The Dark Lord surely wouldn't feel he could trust Lucius' loyalty to remain unshakeable. Maybe, in a few years, when the spell had worn down a little and the bond was less raw, it would be possible for Draco to survive with few ill effects once Voldemort vanquished Potter. But... the confrontation was supposed to happen _soon_. And Voldemort would surely not totally trust a man who knew that his only son might die if Potter was killed or injured.

So much for Father's position as Voldemort's right-hand man.

God, this was so utterly horrible.

"All right then, gentlemen, time to wake up," Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room and Potter woke up. Draco watched his face go through the same disorientation, followed by sinking realization of where he was and what that meant. Potter glanced over at him and they shared a blank look of distaste. Draco looked away.

"Now, I'll just have a look at you both-" Pomfrey took out her wand and waved it over Draco and he flinched a little, alarmed. "Just a quick once-over, Mr. Malfoy... you seem fine..." she turned to Potter and repeated the movement, "As do you... how did you sleep?"

"Er, fine," mumbled Potter. She looked at Draco and he nodded.

"Separately?"

"Yes!" they both snapped in identical tones of embarrassment and irritation.

Pomfrey fixed them both with a level gaze, "I have to ask. I'm monitoring the state of your bond. In the next few months I will be asking plenty of questions that you will find intrusive and possibly embarrassing, and you had better get used to it." She clapped her hands and a couple of house elves appeared with breakfast trays, two others with small piles of clothing and books. "Here are your books and clothing, showers are in there," she pointed, "and you've got forty-five minutes until class. Any questions?"

Draco and Potter stared at her.

"Right then. Hurry up, gentlemen," she bustled off.

**ooooooo**

Snape didn't glance at them as they entered his Potions class and had a battle of wills as to where they would sit. They had been mostly speaking only in monosyllables until this point, save for an occasional, "Hurry up," or "Get out of my way."

"Come _on_ ," Draco hissed impatiently, not liking the fact that their classmates were trying to look like they weren't staring at them.

"No," Potter muttered back. "I want to sit here."

Draco didn't bother to consider it. There was no way he was going to sit next to the Mudblood and the Weasel. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You go sit wherever you want," Potter hissed, setting his books down with a thump next to Granger. "I'm sitting here." Draco narrowed his eyes, not wanting to give in, then looked at his regular desk, mentally measuring the distance.

Maybe twelve, fifteen feet or so. Fine, then. He stalked over to it and sat down next to Goyle, ignoring Goyle's startled expression and returning his fellow Slytherins' hesitant greetings with a curt nod.

Halfway through the class, he was almost ready to admit this had been a bad idea. What had started as faint unease had turned into annoyance, then an itching feeling like he needed to go sit next to Potter. The feeling was growing stronger and he was becoming unable to concentrate on the lesson. Snape was saying something about how you had to dry some plant... what was it... to prevent some potion from doing... something...

Brilliant, Draco thought. Very precise. He made himself focus on Snape despite the growing irritation. It felt like he was being surrounded by buzzing bees. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the feeling. No, that didn't work. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a small breath of annoyance.

"Malfoy? You all right?" Goyle said quietly.

"Yeah," he muttered, forcing himself into stillness.

_Get up. Get up, walk to the back of the class, tell Granger to move, and sit. You'll feel better._

He ignored the little voice, blew out his breath again and focussed on Snape.

"The hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting, who can tell me why?" Snape glanced over at Draco, his eyes narrowing briefly. He flicked his gaze over to the back of the room, then back to Draco. Draco tensed, hoping Snape wouldn't pick on him because he really had no idea - "Potter?" Snape said. Draco gave a small start. There was a short silence, followed by an audible small thump. Draco forced himself not to turn around.

"Um - I'm sorry, Professor, what was the question?" Potter's voice sounded rather unsteady.

Snape did that smirking-without-moving-a-facial-muscle thing he was so good at, as the Slytherins in the room chuckled. "I asked, Mr. Potter, why the hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting."

Silence. "I don't know, sir."

"Then why don't we see if you can deduce it. This is a question even Longbottom should be able to answer. Tell me, what is the purpose of hollyhock in this potion? And no, Miss Granger, do not whisper the answer to him."

Another silence. "I don't know."

Snape's non-smirk grew and Draco felt himself inexplicably blushing as the snickers from his fellow Slytherins got louder. "What is the purpose of the potion, then, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't know," Potter replied sullenly.

"What is the name of the potion?"

"I. Don't. Know," Potter said clearly, anger simmering through his tone. Draco felt his own pulse speeding up, anger growing in him as well at Snape's questioning. Damn it, Snape knew exactly what was wrong, why couldn't he pick on somebody else-

No, Snape was right. Potter wasn't paying attention and Snape knew exactly why that was and he was doing the right thing. Making Potter look like a fool in front of the class so that Potter wouldn't repeat the same mistake twice - he'd sit where Draco wanted to sit next time. This was good. He should be feeling grateful to Snape.

Except that, thanks to the damnable bond, Draco was feeling Potter's anger instead of gratitude.

"What is the name of this class?" Snape asked.

"Potions!" Potter snapped.

"Finally, a question you can answer. Very good, one point to Gryffindor for that answer. Ten points from Gryffindor for your complete inability to answer anything else." There was a rustle of dismay from the Gryffindors, and a wave of snickers from the Slytherins. "I would suggest you find a way to concentrate, Potter. I will be calling on you again."

Draco closed his eyes tightly, trying to push away Potter's anger and resentment and his own rapidly growing need to change seats and put them both out of their misery.

No. No. No no no no.

Snape was talking again, about who knew what, and there was another voice closer to him that he couldn't even identify and the bees were buzzing louder and

"Ow, FUCK!" he burst out, white hot pain blazing from his arm, pulling away from the source of the pain and opening his eyes to Goyle gaping at him and the rest of the class staring in surprise. He moved back, rubbing his arm and trying to steady himself.

"Is there a problem?" Snape's voice cut through the buzzing.

"I didn't mean to - I'm sorry, Professor, I forgot-" Goyle said stupidly, "I, he didn't look very good and he didn't answer when I asked him if he was all right and I just tapped his arm, sir-"

Snape made an annoyed sound. "Goyle, move to that empty desk. Potter, take Goyle's place. The reason that hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting-" and Draco lost the rest of the sentence as Goyle picked up his things and moved to the next desk over with an apologetic look at Draco. Potter thumped his books onto the desk, sitting down without looking at him.

How utterly disgusting. Potter was sitting next to him and almost immediately the world felt relatively normal again - no buzzing, no itch, no small voice telling him anything. Feeling infinitely better, picking up the thread of Snape's lecture easily and filling in the parts he'd missed almost without effort. Of course, any fool could figure out that if hollyhock was being used for its curative properties, those faded after three days.

He dipped his quill and wrote down Snape's words, glancing over his notes so far and stopping in surprise. His penmanship was awful, almost illegible. There were words missing, mix-ups... he was going to have to borrow somebody's notes to get anything resembling decent information from the last half-hour or so of this class. He glanced over to Potter's paper and chuckled at the absolute mess evident there.

"Shut up," Potter muttered under his breath. Draco smirked and bent his head back to his own notes, immensely cheered up despite the animosity rolling off Potter like a cloud.

**ooooooo**

They entered the Great Hall together, having successfully passed the rest of the morning without speaking to one another but now stopping short as they realized they had no idea where to sit. It hadn't been a problem during Transfigurations, which was right after Potions, because since Potter had switched into Draco's class, he'd had to sit wherever Draco wanted. And where Draco wanted to sit was with his friends, who snickered at Potter and welcomed Draco back amongst them as though nothing had happened and studiously avoided any mention of the curse. Draco had amused himself for part of the class by imagining what the various parents of his friends must have said to them yesterday. It seemed, for the time being at least, that the overall tactic was one of cautious watchfulness. The Malfoy family had suffered a severe setback, but it was not unthinkable that they would recover and most of their peers had learned through bitter experience not to try to exploit their moments of weakness; the Malfoys always exacted revenge.

That didn't help in this current situation, though. The Great Hall was filling with students and here they were, between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables.

Potter started towards the Gryffindor table and Draco grabbed his sleeve. "Where are you going?"

"My table. I had to sit with your friends the entire morning. It's your turn."

"I'm not sitting at your table."

"Why not?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Malfoy," Potter yanked his arm away, "We have to compromise, remember? Give and take? Does this sound at all familiar?"

"I compromised by dropping History of Magic and switching into your bloody Charms class and picking up Herbology."

"I dropped Muggle Studies and-"

"I'm _not_ sitting at the Gryffindor table!!"

"Well, where do you suggest we eat? Because I'm not sitting at the Slytherin table!!"

"No Slytherin would want you there anyway!!"

"Then come up with another alternative!!" They glared at one another, not caring that quite a few people were watching their argument. Finally Draco moved to the nearest table, reached past two startled Ravenclaws, grabbed two sandwiches and an apple, and motioned to Potter to do the same. Potter did so, following Draco out of the Great Hall and into the nearest courtyard, and plunking himself down on a bench as far away from Draco as he could.

**ooooooo**

This... Draco really didn't need this. At the end of an entire day spent with Potter, trying as much as possible to ignore him and not think about how completely screwed up this situation was, after an entire day spent trying, as much as possible, to remain in denial about it all, this was... really too much.

Charms class had been bad enough, as he'd had to sit entirely too close to the Mudblood and Weaselby and been surrounded by bloody Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and not a single Slytherin face in sight, but after that they'd had only classes that he'd already been taking before this damn curse.

But now at the end of the day he needed to unwind and maybe go study in the library or spend time with his house mates, playing the interminable Slytherin political games that he was so good at, and enjoyed so much. He needed the comfort of his common room and his dorm room. Having been an only child, he'd always hated having to share a room with three other boys at school, but right now he would've given anything to see Goyle and Crabbe's stupid faces and hear Zabini's affected drawl.

Instead, he'd had to walk past his housemates with Potter in tow, go into his room, and pack away his things so that the house elves could take them to their new quarters. Then he'd had to follow Potter into Gryffindor tower so Potter could do the same.

And now, here they were. In rooms normally reserved for married professors. One small bedroom, looking rather crowded with two student beds in it. A sitting room, large enough for a few sofas and chairs and two desks. A washroom with a bath - no common washroom to share with other students. A small storage area.

If it had been his own, he would've been quite pleased. Unfortunately, he had a roommate.

He had the most incredible desire to either kill Potter or burst into tears. And he couldn't do either one. He took refuge in automatic motion, putting his things away. Didn't bother to do anything with the knickknacks he'd taken from his dormitory - that would be admitting that this was his home now, and he certainly didn't want to do that. Best to simply put away his clothing and books, as Potter was doing, while ignoring Potter as he had the whole day, then pick up the Herbology notes he'd received from Professor Sprout and start catching up. He sat down to study and sensed Potter looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"That's it? You're just settling in to work?"

"I've missed the first month of Herbology," he said curtly. "I don't want to damage my grades. You should get started on Arithmancy; it's not an easy subject."

"It'll be dinner time in an hour."

Draco shrugged and flipped the page.

"Where will we be sitting for dinner?"

"Not at the Great Hall."

"We'll miss announcements."

"I don't care."

"I do."

"Good for you."

"Malfoy, I want to go to the Great Hall and be around other people. As much as I appreciate your silence I don't intend to stay locked up in here with you forever."

"Not your idea of a proper honeymoon, Potter? I'm so sorry, I'll be sure to ask my father to book us a cruise through the Mediterranean." He flipped another page. "After I've caught up on this stupid class."

"Malfoy. I'm going to the Great Hall for dinner. I'm going to sit with my friends."

"I'll tell the elves which bed to deposit you on when they bring you in after you pass out."

He could almost hear Potter counting to ten. "Why don't we sit at the Gryffindor table today, and the Slytherin tomorrow?"

"Because my house mates will throw up if they have to sit near you while they're eating."

"Then we can sit at the Gryffindor table again. Gryffindor constitutions are not as delicate."

"Piss off."

"I'd love to. Unfortunately there's this little problem of the curse." Draco ignored him. "Malfoy," Potter's voice was taking on an exasperated edge. Draco continued to ignore him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Draco yawned and flipped another page. This was new. Potter had done this to him a few times over the years - pretending indifference, refusing to be baited, driving Draco to distraction. Draco hadn't tried it before, but he could see why Potter did it. It was quite gratifying. He'd have to remember that.

"Malfoy!" Potter sounded really angry now, and Draco smiled to himself as he carefully kept his eyes on his Herbology notes. Potter slammed his fist on the desk in front of Draco, causing Draco to jump slightly and look up at him.

"Do you have a problem, Potter?" he drawled, taking in Potter's red face with glee.

"Stop being an ass and talk to me!"

"I will not sit at the Gryffindor table for dinner, you will not be allowed to sit at the Slytherin table, I would suggest we ask the house elves to bring us dinner here. I think we're done with this particular domestic dilemma."

Potter stared at Draco for a moment, then stalked off and threw himself down onto his bed.

**ooooooo**

"There's somebody at the door," their portrait, Sir Xander the German Vampire Hunter, announced a few hours later.

"Who?"

"Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

"Tell them to come in-" "Tell them to bugger off-" they spoke simultaneously.

"This is my room too," Potter said very quietly, and Draco thought for a minute, weighing his options. He was most tempted to simply refuse, and see what happened. But Potter, damn him, was right - they couldn't just be alone all the time. And while Draco's next impulse was to tell Potter that if he wanted to be with his friends, he had to do it outside their rooms, unfortunately that would mean that Draco would have to leave too. And he had no intention of being seen in public with Potter's little friends.

And if he wanted to bring any of his friends here, he'd need Potter's permission to do so.

"All right, your friends can come in - but only if mine can too."

Potter looked at him strangely. "Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. Draco nodded curtly.

"Harry, where were you at dinner?" Granger said as she and Weasley burst in. Draco didn't bother to greet them, just buried himself into his notes.

"Here," Potter muttered.

"Oh, Harry-"

Draco impatiently picked up his wand and set a silence spell around his desk, blocking out the sound of Potter's despicable little cronies and plunging himself back into Herbology.

**ooooooo**

**Day 3, Thursday**

God, no, Harry thought the next day as he woke up.

This didn't seem to get any better, did it?

He glanced over to the other bed, where Malfoy was still sleeping. Looking rather more pleasant than when he was awake, without his normal smirk and sneer. Except that for the last two days, Malfoy hadn't been wearing either expression much. "Sullen" seemed to be his expression of choice instead.

Asleep was better.

Harry gazed at him, thinking. He'd spent the last two days dealing with the reality of day-to-day life, and had deliberately not let himself think of what it all meant. It still seemed inconceivable that they were expected to actually live together at all, let alone as a couple. Whenever his thoughts went down that path, he'd distracted himself by remembering Pomfrey saying that not all bonds were like marriages. Maybe theirs would be one of the lucky few that consisted of simply living together, distasteful as the idea seemed. Lifelong roommates. Not even that, actually - according to Pomfrey, this need to be physically close wouldn't last forever. Some day, all this might be but a far off, unhappy memory of the one year at Hogwarts that had been ruined by having to spend the bulk of his time with Malfoy, who now lived on the other side of the world.

Right.

Harry thought over yesterday's events as he went to the washroom and changed - the horrible disorientation in Potions, Snape needling him, moving to sit next to Malfoy and all of a sudden feeling better. The embarrassment of it all - and the small feeling of vindication when he'd looked over and seen that Malfoy's notes for the class were not as bad as his, but were rubbish nonetheless. At least he hadn't been the only one affected.

He missed Hermione. And Ron. And the thought that they were getting up and doing their morning routine without him, that all of his friends were together in Gryffindor Tower while he was stuck out here with this git, was almost unbearable.

Hermione and Ron had come over last night and stayed for quite a while, but eventually they had to go back to their dorm. And he couldn't go with them. All he could do was get ready for bed and lie down, with Malfoy five feet away from him, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could possibly survive more than a couple of days of this.

One thing he was going to do. He was going to somehow get Malfoy to agree to go to the Great Hall for meals. He was going to make sure they were around other people. Maybe today's class schedule would help - Malfoy would be attending Harry's classes most of the afternoon; maybe he'd get lonely for his Slytherin cronies. Harry could only hope.

Malfoy turned over, sighing deeply in his sleep, and Harry hated the thought of having to wake him. Wishing that he could leave Malfoy to sleep, and just go to breakfast and attend his classes. Unfortunately, if Malfoy didn't get up, they'd both be late.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't stir.

"Malfoy," Harry repeated, a little louder. Malfoy didn't even twitch. Harry approached Malfoy's bed, prodded his shoulder. "Malfoy. Wake up." Malfoy woke with a start and stared up at Harry. Then he clenched his eyes shut.

"Oh, god, you again," he muttered, voice still groggy.

"Yeah, me again. Get up."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Go away."

Harry stepped back, nonplussed. What was he supposed to do now? He didn't relish the thought of starting the day with a fight and dragging a sullen, difficult Malfoy to breakfast and then to classes.

All right, then, he wouldn't. He lay down on his bed and took out a book.

Twenty-five minutes later, Malfoy spoke up blearily. "What time is it?"

"8:20."

"What??" Malfoy sat up. "We've got class in ten minutes!"

"I know."

"Why in hell didn't you wake me up??"

"I tried. You didn't want me to."

"And you just let me go back to sleep??" Malfoy was scrambling out of bed, grabbing his clothing and school robes.

"I'm not your alarm clock," Harry said mildly, getting up, fully dressed and ready to go. He'd miss breakfast, that much was obvious, but it was worth it to see Malfoy panicking at the thought of showing up late for McGonagall's class.

"Very-" Malfoy's voice was muffled as he ripped his t-shirt off, "funny, Potter. Hilarious, as a matter of fact," he quickly scrambled into clean trousers, "You should really consider going into business with the Weasley twins-" he put on a clean shirt and started doing up the buttons, realized he'd missed one and started over with a frustrated growl, "as you're obviously no earthly use as anything else." He tossed his books into his schoolbag, checking them and realizing one was missing.

"If you're looking for your Defence Against the Dark Arts text..." Harry said helpfully, and Malfoy looked up in relief, "... then I'm afraid I can't help you."

It was interesting, thought Harry, how this whole 'feeling the other's feelings' thing worked. He was feeling some of Malfoy's anger and discomfort right now, it was true, but it was far outweighed by his own vindictive pleasure. After the embarrassment of yesterday's Potions class, he was now getting some back at the thought of Malfoy arriving late and flustered to the class taught by Harry's own Head of house. Not that McGonagall ever played favourites the way Snape did, but it was still a nice image to hold on to.

Then Malfoy picked up a textbook and threw it at him, and Harry barely had time to duck before it sailed past his head and hit the wall with a sound smack. Harry stared at Malfoy in surprise. Malfoy just didn't get physical when he was angry - he was the king of snide put-downs and sarcastic mockery, but any kind of physical intimidation was left to his sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle, as if Malfoy just couldn't be bothered to lower himself down to such menial activities. But here he was, furious and picking up another book to hurl at Harry.

"Malfoy, get a grip! We don't have time for this!"

Malfoy hurled the book anyway but turned and put on his robes, looking for his tie.

"I do know where your tie is," Harry said pleasantly. Malfoy didn't bother acknowledging him. "I'll even bring it to you." He waited a beat. " _If_ we sit with my friends during Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to hurl another book at him, but he nodded tightly and Harry smiled and picked up the Slytherin tie, which had fallen under Malfoy's desk.

"Come on," Malfoy muttered, and they took off for Transfigurations at a run, Malfoy hurriedly running his hand through his hair and struggling with his tie.

I must remember I'm living with a Slytherin, thought Harry. Don't bother appealing to fair play and decency; manipulation and self-interest are the only things they understand.


	2. October 1 - October 4

**Day 3, Thursday, continued**

I must remember I'm living with a Slytherin, and an unusually unpleasant, vindictive one at that, thought Harry at lunch time.

The day had not gone well so far. They'd rushed into Transfigurations eight minutes late, and although all McGonagall had done was pause in mid-sentence and pointedly wait for them to sit before continuing, Malfoy had been in a foul temper ever since. In sharp contrast with his sullen terseness the last two days, he'd kept up a steady litany of verbal abuse during the practical part of the lesson.

It hadn't helped that they were in Malfoy's class, so every snide remark Malfoy sent his way was followed by a chorus of laughter from his Slytherin cronies. Harry had almost literally bitten his tongue to keep from saying anything, knowing whatever he said would only be mercilessly mocked by Malfoy and his friends.

"Brilliant, Potter. Work any second year would be proud of. Too bad you're in seventh."

"Did that one glimmer of understanding get too lonely inside your brain with no other thoughts to keep it company? Is that why it decided to abandon you?" Pansy Parkinson had particularly appreciated that one.

"Merlin, Potter, we're supposed to be turning a quill into a flower, not a bloody weed."

"You are just feigning abject stupidity, right? To fool the rest of us into a false sense of superiority?" That last had at least resulted in McGonagall taking five points from Slytherin for Malfoy's rudeness, but that hadn't helped Harry's ego any.

Then had come Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had been able to sit with his friends during the first part of the lesson, but the second half involved a fair bit of movement as they practiced spells against banshees. Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson had ended up working near them, joining Malfoy in mocking Harry and Hermione as they attempted to subdue Harry's banshee, and Hermione's repeated exhortations to Harry to not listen to 'the slimy git' somehow didn't help at all.

"Honestly, Potter, I may as well be married to a Squib," Malfoy had muttered, and his Slytherin friends had laughed.

"We're not  _married_ ," Harry snapped, and Malfoy had blinked at him.

"What?"

"We may be bonded. We're not married," Harry said tightly.

"It's the same thing."

"No it's not. Don't call it that," Hermione said coldly.

Malfoy exchanged a baffled look with his cronies. "Why not?"

"Marriage is supposed to be something more than a stupid curse that ties you to a loathsome toad you'd rather kill in his sleep. It's supposed to be about love and commitment - it's supposed to be a  _good_  thing."

Malfoy smirked at them. "Ooh. That's so sweet. Marriage is all about poetry and candy hearts, is it?" Parkinson giggled. "How very Muggle. All right then, have it your way: honestly, Potter,  _darling_ , I may as well be married to a Squib."

Harry had blushed furiously, sending the Slytherins into peals of laughter and giving Malfoy perfect fodder for more merciless mockery for the rest of the class.

"Don't think too hard,  _dear_. It's not your strong suit."

"Light of my life, this complete inability of yours to understand the simplest instructions - does it come naturally, or have you worked hard to perfect it?"

Well, at least they would be among Harry's friends for most of the afternoon, he tried to comfort himself. Although as he'd learned during Defence Against the Dark Arts, that didn't mean much if there was a lot of movement during class. They had both been accidentally touched by other students during the practical parts of Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and had ended up standing very close to each other to avoid the pain of unwanted contact.

"Hurry up," Malfoy snapped at Harry as they entered the Great Hall. He quickly approached the closest table and grabbed some sandwiches, just like yesterday.

"Malfoy, come on. I don't want to eat in the courtyard again."

"We're not, we're going to the hospital, remember? We're supposed to check in with Pomfrey every day."

"Right." Harry grabbed some food dispiritedly, following Malfoy out. The hospital. Where Pomfrey would wave her wand over them and "monitor" their "progress" and probably ask a bunch of questions he didn't want asked. And remind him that this mess involved far more than just having to get used to a new class schedule and a new place to live. Which was really not something he wanted to be reminded of at all.

**ooooooo**

"All right, then," Madam Pomfrey began, "I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions every day, and I want you to answer them honestly. We'll do this as privately as possible, so you don't have to worry about the other one using anything you say against you. I've also been talking to a Healer from St. Mungo's who deals with bonding spells gone awry. Not that this is all that common, but it does happen from time to time that a couple who has accepted a bond for political reasons," she carefully didn't look at Malfoy as she said that, "finds that they are truly incompatible. She'll be coming in to help every few days." Pomfrey smoothed down her robe, sounding a little less than fully authoritative for once. "I'm rather at a loss, you see. Not only was this bond involuntary, it's also not common between two people of the same sex and of course there's the matter of you both being barely of age. Not to mention the rather strong animosity between you."

"How nice to be unique," Malfoy muttered.

"Yes, well, the papers are having a wonderful time of it," Pomfrey said.

"Papers??" Malfoy and Harry spoke simultaneously.

"I take it you weren't at breakfast?" They shook their heads. "You're the talk of the town on The Daily Prophet."

"Oh, god." Malfoy covered his eyes.

"Welcome to the front page," Harry said bitterly. "Isn't it what you've always wanted?"

Pomfrey cleared her throat and spoke before Malfoy could come back with a cutting retort. "Today, while I'm talking to one of you, I'll have the other one talk to Madam Pantere," she indicated a smartly dressed older witch in Ministry insignia. "She's here to try to find who cast the curse on you-" Pomfrey held out her hand as their expressions brightened, "-not that anybody expects to find any answers there. You've both been told that this is almost certainly permanent. Madam Pantere will do her best to find whoever cast this, but the odds are high that she will not succeed." They nodded glumly. "All right, then, we'll get started. Malfoy, go with Madam Pantere, she'll examine you and ask you some questions, Potter, come with me."

She led Harry behind a small partition, close to where Madam Pantere and Malfoy would be, but apparently soundproofed, as their voices went suddenly silent. "How are you, Potter?"

"Fine."

"How is the bond? Do you feel a need to be close to Mr. Malfoy, or touch him?"

"Close, yeah. Not, um, not touching."

"Do you feel attuned to his emotional state?"

"Do you mean, can I feel what he's feeling?" She nodded. "Yeah, sort of."

"Care to tell me what that means for you?"

"No."

"Do so anyway."

"I... I can tell, sort of, what he's feeling. If it's strong feelings, I can sort of... it's like I feel them too, but they're not... not mine..." he trailed off, not knowing how to make it any clearer.

"That sounds about right. Do you feel any attraction to him?"

Harry grimaced in distaste. "No."

"No, I didn't imagine you would. Normally it takes at least a week or two. Then again, you are both teenage boys, so it could be faster." She wrote something down. "Have you had any sexual experiences with other boys?"

"No."

"What about girls?"

"Er... not really, no."

Pomfrey looked up at him in surprise. "Nothing?"

"Er, I kissed a girl, a couple of years ago..." he muttered, blushing, "But, um, other than that, er, no."

"Oh dear." Pomfrey looked a little thrown off. "Does Malfoy know?"

"What?"

"That you have almost no sexual experience at all?"

"How should I know?"

"You will need to talk to him about this, you realize that."

"I don't particularly want to."

"Would you rather talk to him now, before it's an issue, or later, in the middle of... well, situations where it would be awkward to bring this up as a topic of conversation?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it at all, frankly. With anyone. Especially him."

"I can imagine," Pomfrey said sympathetically. "Unfortunately, that's really not an option."

"Why not?" Harry muttered rebelliously.

"Potter, be serious. It's going to be noticeable that you've not done anything before, and it's going to cause a great deal of awkwardness."

Harry rubbed his forehead, really wishing he had a Time Turner to go back to a time before any of this had happened.

"You're going to have to talk to him." Harry frowned and Pomfrey leaned closer. "I won't force you to. This is your marriage, you have to-"

"I wish people would stop calling it that!" Harry burst out, exasperated. Pomfrey gave him the same puzzled look that Malfoy had. "It's not a marriage, it's a mistake!"

"It's both, Potter," she said slowly, not understanding him.

Harry pressed his lips together and dropped it. His objection to the word itself seemed to be one of those things that only Muggle-borns could understand.

"Will you talk to him? I won't force you to, but it's a very good idea-"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I guess so." This was going to be rather awkward, he thought tiredly. This whole thing was hellishly awkward, and the thought of bringing this up with Malfoy of all people... he had no idea where to even begin.

"You don't have time right now, but tonight after school I want you to come back here. It might make it easier if the discussion takes place here, where it's more... impersonal."

"But you said it would take a while before anything-"

"We don't know for sure. These things don't follow a strict schedule, you know."

"Fine."

"Do cheer up, Potter. We'll get you both through this. The healer at St. Mungo's has a lot of suggestions about how to deal with problems you may have adjusting. As a matter of fact," she took out a scroll and started to unroll it, "she sent me a list. We won't have time to read through the whole thing right now, of course, but we can get started. Right?"

Harry looked at the long, long roll, and morosely bit into his sandwich. Oh, good. What fun.

**ooooooo**

Malfoy came out of Pomfrey's partition with a grim look on his face and they set off for Arithmancy, each lost in his thoughts.

"Did she talk to you about using the fireplace in our room?" Malfoy said suddenly.

"To talk to parents and such?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. It's one of the suggestions from the St. Mungo's healer."

"What a waste of time," Malfoy shook his head. "How's talking to everybody every day supposed to help? And when am I supposed to be studying while all this chatting is going on?"

"I don't know. Muggles believe in that kind of thing very strongly."

"You mean, just talking out problems?" Harry nodded, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Typical."

"You know they don't want to use cheering charms or anything, what with-"

"I know, I know, they don't know whether the bloody curse will interact with any other spells and they don't want to take chances and all of that. I still say give me a cheering charm over pointless talk any day."

"Don't you want to talk to your parents?"

"Not every day, no."

"Your father looked worried about you the other day."

Malfoy frowned slightly. "Yeah."

"Why didn't your mother come?" Harry asked curiously.

"When?"

"The day that - your father was there, but your mother wasn't."

"None of your business."

Harry shrugged, and they walked the rest of the way to Arithmancy in silence. At the door, he asked, "Did Madam Pomfrey tell you we're supposed to go back to the hospital after class today?"

"Yeah. Didn't say what for, though."

"Oh."

"Do you know?" Malfoy said as they entered the class.

"Er, yeah."

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Then why are we going?" They found their seats, with Hermione next to Harry on one side, and Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode next to Malfoy on the other.

"No reason." Harry took out his book and notes as the Arithmancy professor walked in and greeted the class.

"All right, I've got your papers marked from - oh," said the professor, skimming the stack of papers he was holding and frowning. "These are the fifth year papers. Wait here, please," he said hurriedly, and left.

"So what are we supposed to go back for?" Malfoy asked, filling his ink pot.

"Nothing."

"Come on," Malfoy said, annoyed. "It's obviously not nothing. Is it a secret?"

"No, not really-"

"Then why not tell me?"

"I just don't-"

"Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Lower your voice," Harry warned, as the students near them started to look like they were trying not to be noticed eavesdropping.

"Oh, this is something you want to hide, is it?" Malfoy smirked at Zabini and Bulstrode, who made no attempt to dissemble as they grinned and settled in to watch.

"Drop it," Harry said.

"Goodness, Potter, I'm all aquiver with anticipation now," Malfoy put his hand on his chest dramatically and Bulstrode sniggered.

"Shut up," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Does this have to do with the questions she was asking today?" Harry clamped his mouth shut and Malfoy pounced. "It does!"

"No it doesn't."

"Tell that to your face,  _dear_ ," Malfoy chuckled. "You're blushing. And I can feel just how embarrassed you are. You're positively squirming. It's very entertaining."

"Wonderful."

"Malfoy, do grow up," Hermione said impatiently.

Malfoy didn't bother to acknowledge her. "So, what was it Pomfrey talked about today? There was the state of the bond, could I feel your emotions - I'd have to say yes, right now - how was I doing in terms of the attraction part of this-" Harry tried to remain impassive but from the gleeful tone to Malfoy's voice, failed utterly. "Mhmm, I'd have to say that's it." Malfoy put his head to the side. "So, is it that you're already feeling something?" Small pause. "No, that's not it..."

Harry pressed his lips together, stifling the urge to whack Malfoy on the head or cast a skin-rotting curse at him.

"My goodness, Potter, you do get angry rather easily, don't you?" Malfoy was maliciously delighted. "You should do something about that, you know. It's not good for your nerves."

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Hermione said, reaching out to pat his arm comfortingly and drawing back just in time as Harry flinched in alarm.

"Is it about the questions she was asking, about previous sexual history?" Malfoy asked, pitching his voice low enough for only Harry to hear, and Harry tried to blank his features but it was too late. "That's it, isn't it? Snogged a lot of boys, have you, despite your 'I'm not gay' protests to the contrary?" Malfoy grinned at him maliciously. Harry opened his notes and pretended to study an Arithmancy chart.

Malfoy observed him for a moment. "No, that's not it," he decided. "So..." he peered at Harry closely, then said slowly, "Or is it the other way around?" Harry's pulse sped up. Malfoy's mouth dropped opened in shock. "Potter. You're not a  _virgin_ , surely?" he said, scandalised.

"Shh!" Harry hissed, but it was too late - everybody sitting near them had heard, some students were turning around to look at them, and Malfoy had a look on his face that was very close to horror. Harry covered his eyes, utterly mortified.

"You're... Mordred." Malfoy put his head down on the table. "I'm going to find whoever set this curse," he moaned, "I'm going to find him and kill him, and then I'm going to resuscitate him so I can kill him again."

Harry crossed his arms and set his jaw, not trusting himself to say anything. If you hex him, you'll feel it, he reminded himself. A little discomfort or pain is fine. What you want to do to him would probably kill you through the damnable bond.

"How can you-" Malfoy raised his head, "You're nearly eighteen years old, for god's sake! What in hell have you been waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

"Apparently, I've been waiting for  _you_ ," Harry snapped at him. Bulstrode and Zabini choked back a laugh as Malfoy whipped around to glare at them, then turned back to Harry.

"Oh, that's hilarious. Really, that's very funny. Pity your brilliant wit hasn't done you much good with girls. So that's what we're supposed to talk about today after school? Your absolutely pitiful lack of any experience?" Harry pushed his chair back and stalked out of the classroom, Malfoy growling in annoyance but following him, unable to stay in the room without him, as the rest of the class burst into commentary.

"This is fucking unbelievable!" Malfoy said once they were in the hallway. "What is  _wrong_  with you, Potter?"

"Nothing!" he said furiously. "I just haven't had time to-"

"Oh, for god's sake - that's not - how can you not have had sex before??"

"I take it you have."

"Of course!"

"With other boys?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then you've no right to look down on my inexperience-"

Hermione came bursting into the hallway, rounding on Malfoy heatedly. "You're a foul piece of scum-"

"Funny, somehow I've managed to have a social life anyway - Granger, this is none of your business. Bugger off!"

"You've just made it everybody's business by blurting that out in the middle of the class. What's wrong with you? Do you have no sense of decency at all?"

"Shut up," Malfoy dismissed her, turning back to Harry. "This has got to be the most - get back here!!" he shouted, as Harry turned on his heel and set off. "Where are you going??"

"Away from you!"

"You can't, you bloody idiot, and we have Arithmancy anyway!"

"I don't care! I'm not going back in there!!"

"You stupid git-" Malfoy grabbed at Harry's shoulder, spinning him around, then cried out in pain as Hermione pulled him back.

"NO! Hermione, don't!" Harry exclaimed, as a searing shock went through both of them.

Malfoy rubbed his arm, gasping a little from the pain, and glared at Hermione, then turned back to Harry. "Get back in there. I'm not missing class over this. If you must be a pathetic little virgin, at least don't be a pathetic little virgin who brings down  _my_  marks in Arithmancy."

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Is there a problem?" their Arithmancy professor inquired, appearing with an armful of scrolls.

"No sir," they all said automatically.

"Then kindly re-enter the classroom," he indicated.

"I - I'm not feeling well-" Harry began, and Hermione interrupted him.

"We'll be there in a minute, sir."

"Hermione-"

The professor shrugged and went back into the classroom, and Malfoy followed him in.

"Harry. He's right," Hermione said, her mouth twisting in disgust at her own words. "You'll have to go back in eventually anyway."

**ooooooo**

Well, that was a lot of fun, Harry thought to himself wearily as they finally came back to their quarters after the hospital at the end of the day. Arithmancy had been sheer torture, facing the smirks and whispered comments of the Slytherins. He felt utterly exposed and humiliated, although the fact that they had Astronomy and Herbology with only Harry's house for the rest of the day had helped somewhat. Malfoy, while continuing his steady barrage of put-downs and insults pitched low enough for only Harry to hear, at least didn't have an appreciative Slytherin audience to cheer him on and join him in making fun of Harry.

The hospital had been a different kind of embarrassing torture, but he was glad Pomfrey had been there to keep things clinical and keep Malfoy from getting too out of hand. She'd gotten them to share what experience they each had, given them both some do's and don'ts and a book to read, and reminded them of what they could expect to start feeling in the next few weeks, and how to deal with it all. She'd also sternly pointed out to Malfoy that he was likely to suffer the consequences himself if he made Harry so uncomfortable about the subject that he was unable to relax and allow matters to progress easily. Malfoy had rolled his eyes and made a couple more cutting remarks but then subsided into sullen silence again.

"Password?" Sir Xander asked blearily, just waking up from a nap and scratching his back with his wooden stake.

"Hades," Malfoy muttered, pushing past Harry to get inside. Harry pushed him back impatiently and tossed his schoolbag onto one of their chairs, shouldering out of his robe and throwing it onto the chair next to it.

"Don't you ever put your things away properly, Potter?" Malfoy said irritably.

"I'm surprised you do. Don't you have house elves and lackeys for all menial work?"

"Not twenty-four hours a day, you idiot," Malfoy put his things away neatly and approached the fire. "I'm going first, might as well get this over with," he settled down in front of the fireplace.

"Fine, I'll do my homework."

"Really? No whining about 'it's almost dinner time, can't we pleease go eat with my ickle friends?'"

"After Arithmancy today I've absolutely no desire to be in the Great Hall, thanks," Harry shot back curtly, going through his schoolbag. Malfoy smirked and then turned to the fireplace, where his mother's face was appearing.

Harry settled into one of the comfortable chairs in their sitting room and pulled out his Arithmancy text. He wasn't terribly pleased that he'd had to pick up seventh year Arithmancy. Although technically it concentrated on completely different areas than third-through-sixth year Arithmancy, and technically anybody could take it without the lower year courses, he still felt utterly lost. He'd need to rely heavily on Hermione if he wanted to pass this class at all.

He buried himself into the complex equations from the text and from Hermione's notes, looking up every so often to see if Malfoy was done talking to his parents. They seemed to be having a fairly pleasant conversation, although Lucius Malfoy's face, whenever Harry saw it, was back to the slightly annoyed expression he usually wore around his son. And Malfoy, now that the initial shock of the curse was over, was back to his customary subdued respectfulness when he spoke to his father.

His mother was a different story, though. From her expression, she seemed to be quite worried about her son, to the point that he was getting irritated at her.

"Your classes are going well, then?" she was saying.

"Yeah. Herbology's not a problem; the only reason I wasn't taking it this year is that it's so dead simple I could teach it to myself. The only problem's Runes, that's not easy when I've got to miss half the classes."

"I know. Perhaps we can get you a Runes tutor?"

"That might be good, yeah."

"How... how are you feeling, Draco?" Malfoy's mother said, sounding very unsure of herself.

"Fine," Malfoy muttered, sounding equally uncomfortable. Harry cleared his throat and cast a silence spell over himself, giving Malfoy some privacy in the hopes that he would do the same. Not that he could trust that Malfoy wouldn't listen in on any conversations he had with Lupin, but maybe Malfoy would decide that whatever a werewolf had to say to Harry wasn't worth listening to. He buried himself back into Arithmancy.

A rough poke at his shoulder startled him out of a complex equation. Malfoy was standing over his chair, saying something. Harry ended the silencing spell.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, I'm done," he headed off to the washroom. "Feel free to call your werewolf pseudo-parent," he tossed over his shoulder. "Unless he's busy out mauling people - isn't it close to the full moon?"

Harry ignored him and went to the fireplace.

"Professor," he said in relief as Lupin appeared in the fireplace. God, he hadn't even realized how much he needed to talk to somebody until Lupin was there.

"Harry. How are you?"

**ooooooo**

**Day 4, Friday**

Draco woke up, head buzzing with something, feeling like there was something... damn. He couldn't place it, but there was something missing... damn it. What was it? He lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling above him, trying to identify the feeling. Why wasn't he sleeping? He looked over at the clock - 2:07. He shouldn't be awake, but he was, and he was so very uncomfortable...

He sat up and looked over at Potter, turning restlessly in the next bed, a frown on his sleeping face, and felt a growing need to move closer to him.

Oh, blast, he let himself fall back to his pillow. Here we go. There wasn't anything sexual in what he was feeling, but the five-foot gap between their beds suddenly looked far too wide.

Wonderful. What was he supposed to do about it? Move the bed over, so Potter could see tomorrow that he'd been the one to crack during the night?

He chewed on his lip, observing Potter's restless movements, then decided to take action. He got up and went to the washroom, gritting his teeth at the feeling of unease that grew stronger the farther he moved away from Potter and hoping that same unease would wake Potter up. When he came back, Potter was sitting up in bed, squinting around the room and rubbing a hand through his messy hair.

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"Where were you?"

"Washroom."

"Oh." Potter lay back down.

They lay in silence for a few minutes.

"Malfoy?" Potter finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Can you sleep?"

'Yeah, of course,' was on the tip of his tongue, but then he balked. Potter wouldn't have asked if he were feeling fine himself. If Draco said he felt all right, Potter might decide not to show any weakness and not admit that he too was awake and in severe discomfort, and both of them would remain in this highly irritating state until one of them cracked. He thought for a moment. "Can you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

There was a long pause. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

Another long silence. "Too uncomfortable. You?"

Draco hesitated, then sighed and gave in. "Yeah, me too." He sat up. "Pomfrey said this would happen eventually."

"Yeah. I just didn't expect it this soon." Potter slipped out of his bed. "I'm going to push them together, all right?" he started without waiting for Draco to respond.

"Er-"

"Better?" Potter said as he climbed back into his own bed.

"God, yeah," Draco blurted out before he could censor himself, astonished at the sheer relief that flooded him once the two beds were together and Potter lay a mere foot away from him. He bit his lip as Potter laughed, but it wasn't a mocking laugh.

"That felt like ants crawling on me there for a minute," Potter shuddered.

"Feels like bees buzzing around my head, actually," Draco said. "Whoever came up with this curse was a sadist."

"Yeah. Oh, that's better." Potter closed his eyes contentedly. Draco silently agreed and punched his pillow down, making himself more comfortable and soon slipping back to sleep.

**ooooooo**

"Malfoy!" Draco opened his eyes. Potter was sitting on his own bed, leaning over Draco's bed and firmly shaking him awake. Draco blinked, momentarily disoriented at how close Potter was, then remembered the night before and looked away, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

"We've overslept again, we have to get up  _now_ ," Potter said, scrambling out of bed. Right, Potions, first thing. Draco glanced at the clock - 8:00. He sat up, hurriedly grabbing his clothing, glad he'd showered the night before.

"Have you seen my tie?" he asked as they both quickly changed and scrambled about trying to find their books. Potter tossed it at him and he grabbed it, pushing past Potter into the washroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He felt his face - the mirror showed no shadow, no surprise there, but he should put on shaving potion; it was getting scratchy. No, no time.

"Malfoy? Can I borrow ink? I'm out," Potter came into the washroom, hurriedly running a comb through his hair.

"Yeah -  _if_  we sit with my friends for Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"How about Potions and Herbology?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Done. Ready?"

"Yeah-" Potter put the comb away and impatiently pushed past Draco on his way out of the washroom. Draco finished putting on his tie and followed him out, and they hurried to Potions.

"We need to set an alarm spell," Draco muttered, his stomach growling. "I hate missing breakfast." Potter nodded and they slipped into class barely ahead of Snape, heading towards Draco's desk. Millicent Bulstrode smirked at Potter as she greeted Draco cheerfully, and Draco grinned as he remembered the scene in Arithmancy yesterday, and Potter's utter humiliation. He took out his books, feeling somewhat more upbeat as Snape began the lesson.

"Did we finish that anti-flu potion?" Potter elbowed him and whispered, staring at his notes as Snape wrote on the board.

Draco leaned over to look at Potter's notes. "Really, Potter, that's awful," he commented. "How can you learn anything writing chicken scratches like that? Yeah, we finished the anti-flu. We're starting the anti-pneumonia one today." He smirked and raised his voice slightly. "It's funny though, you'd think, being a virgin and all, that you'd have more time on your hands to take decent notes."

A ripple of laughter spread through the students near them and Snape turned around as Potter elbowed Draco angrily and muttered "Shut up!"

"Mr. Potter, would you care to share what is so funny with the class?"

"No, sir," Potter mumbled.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape turned back to the board.

Draco grinned and bent his head to his notes.

**ooooooo**

"This is where you live now, Draco? Oh my. This is nice," Pansy Parkinson said, as she, Blaise Zabini, Granger and Weasley accompanied him and Potter into their quarters at the end of the day.

"Bit bare, though, isn't it?" Blaise asked. Draco shrugged.

"Too bad about the company, too," Pansy said lightly, and Potter and his friends ignored her as they settled into their seats.

Draco smiled, unexpectedly glad to have fellow Slytherins around. They'd all gone to the library to study, but had been chased out eventually by Pince for making too much noise. Draco had gathered his books, glumly reflecting that he'd never thought he'd miss his common room, where he could study by himself or with friends, or take a break and relax and talk if he wanted. As both he and Potter were cut off from their common rooms, he'd resigned himself to going back to their quarters with only Potter for company again until Granger had suggested they move their study session there.

"Your place is large enough to fit all of us, Harry," she'd said, and Pansy and Blaise had raised their eyebrows at the thought of Granger having been in Draco's private quarters, even as Potter had muttered something about it not being that big. Draco, sure that Pansy and Blaise would have no wish to be around Granger and Weasley, had been about to say something to the effect that he didn't want visitors when Pansy spoke up.

"They've been already? And here I thought you weren't accepting any visitors," she'd smirked. "Or is it Gryffindor-only territory?"

"No, of course not-" Draco started to say, and Pansy nodded, cutting off whatever Blaise was about to say.

"Right then. Let's go," she'd said brightly.

"Oh, goodness, this isn't funny, it's Friday night and here we are, studying," Pansy muttered now as she settled herself into the loveseat, "Bloody NEWTs. I'm a nervous wreck about them already. Draco, did you copy down my notes from yesterday's Runes?"

"Yeah, right here-" he handed her the notes, settling in and noting that, barely four days in, there was already an established seating pattern that everybody fell into: Draco and Potter in the middle, often with their backs to each other or at least turned as far away from each other as possible, Potter's friends on Potter's side, Draco's friends on the other side. The only problem was that right now they'd ended up with Draco and Pansy sharing the loveseat, a little too close for comfort, and Potter in an armchair next to him, a little too far away for comfort.

Damn, if only those feelings were reversed. He and Pansy had dated briefly several times and he liked her well enough - not as anything serious, as they'd both expected to end up married off politically to other people, but she wasn't bad company and was pleasant enough in bed. If only he could see her closeness right now as a possible sign of the evening taking a romantic turn, instead of feeling slightly nervous she might make him feel his skin was on fire if she moved the wrong way.

"Did the translations make any sense?" Pansy asked him.

"Not much, no."

"Damnably difficult, not attending every other day. Why didn't he just drop Astronomy?" she glanced disparagingly over at Potter.

Draco shrugged. "Didn't work out. It's not a problem, my mother's probably going to get me a tutor."

"Still. You shouldn't have to-"

"It's not a problem," Draco repeated firmly. Pansy flipped her hair back and turned to her own notes.

"Well. Here, let me go through the third translation, see if I remember how it goes myself."

Draco leaned closer to see her notes, jerking back as she lifted her face unexpectedly and almost touched him.

"Oh, sorry. Look, the third verse is..." and he was soon lost in the intricacies of the Runic writing, looking up only when he saw Granger approaching their bedroom door.

"Where's the book?" she asked, and Draco felt a small jump of alarm.

"Hermione, don't, I'll get it-" Potter was saying hurriedly but Granger was already opening the door. "I said I'd get it," Potter mumbled, blushing a little as Hermione's eyebrows went up, seeing their two beds pushed together.

"My goodness, we are moving fast, aren't we?" Pansy purred as she peered into their bedroom. "All the virgin jokes wearing thin already, Potter? Or do they no longer apply?" Potter glared at her, opening his mouth for a quick retort. Draco quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Don't," he suggested, turning back to Pansy as Potter's face took on a bemused expression, he closed his mouth, and went into the bedroom to look for the book Granger wanted.

Pansy smirked. "Well? Bond progressing faster than expected, Draco?"

"No," he muttered. "It's just easier to not be too far apart. Nothing's happened yet." He cleared his throat. "And it's none of your business anyway," he said lightly. "Where were we?"

"Ever since you became an old married man you're no fun at all," Pansy pouted, and Blaise laughed.

"Very funny. I think we're supposed to be working on the third translation?"

"Yes, fine, all right. Look, I think the problem is that you weren't there for Tuesday's class either, that's when he explained the indicative phraseology that we had to look at for the Thursday runes."

"The what?"

"Indicative phraseology," she repeated patiently, and he lost himself in the intricacies of the week's lessons as she led him and Blaise through them.

Blaise was really quite hopeless at it, thought Draco uncharitably half an hour later as Blaise asked yet another question that showed he had no grasp of even the simplest concepts. He let his mind wander, a bit bored, as Pansy corrected yet another interpretation error on Blaise's paper, then reminded himself that he wasn't all that sure of the concepts himself. The look on Pansy's face at some of his questions had shown him quite conclusively that he wasn't functioning at his usual level today. He really should be using his time to go over the more difficult phrases while Pansy worked with Blaise, rather than staring at the wall blankly and imagining the dots on the wallpaper as bees. Buzzing bees. Buzzing softly, making it difficult to concentrate.

"Harry?" Weasley's voice startled him and he looked up to see Weasley moving his hand in front of Potter's face. "Anybody home?"

"Sorry," Potter muttered, blinking and shaking his head. "What were you saying?"

"I was talking about the Arithmancy assignment," Granger said patiently. "Due next Tuesday. Do you need my notes?"

"Um, yeah, yeah - what day is it due again?"

"Tuesday," Granger said slowly. Potter nodded, then turned to look at Draco.

Draco blew out his breath. Here we go again, he thought as they gazed at each other in irritation. He was hearing bees, Potter was out to lunch, there were about six feet between his loveseat and Potter's armchair, and obviously the three were connected. And short of asking everyone to change places, there was no subtle way of reducing the discomfort.

It wasn't that bad anyway, he told himself, prepared to just deal with it, and failed to stifle a yelp of pain as Pansy brushed against his shoulder unexpectedly.

"Oh, bother, I'm sorry," she said breezily, glancing at Granger quickly. "This isn't going to work, Draco, I'm too used to jabbing you whenever I feel like it, here, Blaise, slide over, Potter, come take my place, actually, why doesn't everybody just move over one seat and Blaise you pull that armchair over to this side? Right, then-" and Draco and Potter watched, bemused, as the seating change was accomplished with a minimum of fuss and Granger gave Pansy a grateful look and the two groups resumed their conversations as if no interruption had taken place.

"Right, then, Blaise," Pansy said, "Come on, don't be a complete idiot, the Gothic wizards didn't have a word for train, they didn't  _have_  trains, honestly, a little general history wouldn't be out of place once in a while at this school."

**ooooooo**

**Day 6, Sunday**

"It's going all right, I suppose. I'm getting used to him," Harry said quietly to Lupin via the fireplace Sunday night. Not that he needed to be quiet; Malfoy had, as per usual, cast a silence charm over himself - but it still felt a little odd to talk about somebody when they were right in the room. Especially when they were seated close enough to touch.

"You sound lonely," Lupin observed gently.

"Yeah, well... I miss my house. Weekends are always fun at Gryffindor Tower, I mean we just sleep in late and then sit around not doing much, but it's still, it's nice."

"What did you do instead?"

"Woke up late, but then there wasn't much to do other than study. I met with some friends at the library, but it's... it's not the same. They all live together and I don't any more. Seamus and Dean were laughing about a joke they'd played on a third year, and I had no idea what they were talking about, and Ron and Neville were-" Harry stopped himself. He was whining. He should probably stop. "Sorry."

"Harry, it's all right."

Harry nodded, face downcast, then looked up as Malfoy tapped him on the shoulder.

"Where's the assignment for Herbology?" he asked, and Harry pointed to his desk. Malfoy got it, tsking in annoyance at the amount of loose paper that littered Harry's study area.

"How's the bond?" Lupin asked. Harry shrugged. "That good?"

"It's not that bad," Harry admitted. "He's not awful all the time." He looked over at Malfoy, but Malfoy was studying Harry's assignment with a slight frown and appeared to have set the silence charm around himself again. Harry sighed.

"What is it?"

"It's just... you know we go to Madam Pomfrey every day, right?"

"Yes..."

"She's had that witch from the Ministry examine us a few times - and, and she said it looked like the spell wasn't even done right."

"What?"

"I didn't really understand most of it - I wish Hermione'd been there, she would have been able to follow it. All I could understand was that she thought it showed 'lack of experience with this class of spells'. She explained why, but I really couldn't make heads or tails of what she was talking about."

"Did Malfoy know what she was talking about?"

"Oh, apparently. He got very angry and said something like, 'So we've been cursed by an amateur.'"

"Did you ask him to explain it to you?"

"Malfoy? Not a chance," Harry said automatically, then looked over at Malfoy, still oblivious right next to him.

"Any chance of catching the caster?"

"Not really. She thinks it may have been a student. Or maybe a teacher doing the spell slightly off so that it looked like a student did it. Or somebody outside of Hogwarts. Who knows."

"What does it mean?"

"She really doesn't know, except that she doesn't think our bond will 'progress in the regular fashion', whatever that means. We might feel some things more than we would otherwise, or less, or who knows, but then she said anything unusual may just be because it was involuntary and we're both so young and..." Harry's words ran out.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said after a long pause.

"Yeah, well, me too."

"What does Madam Pomfrey say about the progression so far?"

"Oh, she thinks everything's splendid," Harry said bitterly.

"You don't agree?"

"'Splendid' means we have to be close almost all the time, and, and, we... we need to touch - I hadn't really noticed that one, but he noticed that we were pushing each other out of the way and hitting each other more than before. That's nice, isn't it? A bond that's based on shoving and hitting each other?"

"Not the best basis for a marriage, no," Lupin winced as soon as he'd spoken. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like to call it that."

"I'm getting used to it. Hermione's the only person who doesn't call it that, really. Even Ron - he said something like 'now that you're married' the other day. It's just so strange. Everybody just accepts it as a marriage. And it's not."

"Lily said something like that once," Lupin said slowly.

"Like what?"

"I think it was because Sirius was complaining that his parents wanted him married off to a woman he'd never met, and Lily said something like That's not a real marriage, and she couldn't understand why the rest of us couldn't see the difference."

"Hm."

"Is there really that big a difference for Muggles?"

"What?"

"Do Muggles really believe that there needs to be romantic love in a marriage to make it a real marriage?"

"No, not really, I don't think..." Harry realized that he had no idea. "Actually, I don't know. I pretty much stopped living in the Muggle world six years ago. I don't know a lot about Muggle marriages. But I don't know much about wizard ones either."

"I suppose not."

Harry stared at his knees, lost in his thoughts.

"Harry?"

"Yeah? Sorry."

"You sound very down."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Would it help to have friends come visit your new quarters?"

"It did, the other day, but it's not the same. They're just visitors. They go back to their dorms eventually, and I'm still stuck here."

Another silence descended, and Harry looked up as Malfoy touched his shoulder.

"Potter? It's getting late."

"Yeah," Harry said dispiritedly. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Malfoy nodded, putting his things away and going to get ready for bed.

"Does this talking help, at all?" Lupin asked gently.

"I think so. I don't know." Harry sighed. "I better go to bed."

Lupin looked like he was as much at a loss as Harry. "Harry..."

"Thanks. For, for listening. You know. I'll, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night."

Harry got ready for bed mechanically, lay down and stared at the ceiling, unable to get past his feelings of sadness and loss, his confusion.

Everything was moving so quickly. Less than a week ago, he'd been secure in the knowledge that, unless Voldemort screwed up his life unexpectedly, he belonged in the seventh-year boys' dorm in Gryffindor Tower and in Muggle Studies and on the Quidditch team. And now, here he was. No dorm, different classes, no Quidditch, lying right next to a boy he'd hated for the better part of six years. He glanced over at Malfoy already asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful.

It had all changed too fast, and it was continuing to change too fast. They were next to each other all the time. They were touching each other all the time - pushing, shoving, elbowing each other out of the way... and tapping arms to get each other's attention, leaning over each other's shoulders to look at notes in class, brushing past each other as they moved around their quarters. He'd even realized the other day during Potions that his leg was lightly touching Malfoy's under their desk, and he had no idea how long they'd been sitting like that. He'd only noticed because Malfoy had turned to make a sneering remark about Harry's Potions essay to Pansy, and Harry's leg suddenly felt a little cooler. He hadn't noticed the contact; only the lack of it when it was withdrawn.

A little more noticeable had been this morning, when he woke up with Malfoy's hand on his shoulder and Malfoy still deeply asleep beside him. They were still in separate beds, but getting closer and he was starting to worry that one of them would wake up having dropped in between the beds. Pomfrey had noted that they'd soon have to get used to sleeping in the same bed.

And they would. Get used to it, that is. He was getting used to all of it. They still got on each other's nerves, but they were able to go for longer periods of time being civil to one another, and sometimes it wasn't a strain, it was just daily life. It was hard to keep up constant animosity every single time your... roommate asked if you'd seen his tie. It was all getting to be routine.

Somehow, he didn't think that what was supposed to come later on in this "progression" would be this easy to get used to. Especially as he was now actively dreading it.


	3. October 9 - October 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to beta Kyllikki :)

**Day 11, Friday**

Draco woke up and groaned. Shit. That had been rather vivid. He turned over in bed, automatically checking that Potter was still asleep.

Thank god, yes. He'd been afraid he'd been talking in his sleep, and considering what was going on in his dream, that would've been awkward to say the least.

That was the second time these last two nights he'd woken up this dissatisfied; he'd given up counting the times he'd woken up to sticky sheets instead. Thank god for Marcus Flint's cleaning spells, or he'd have to explain to Potter why he needed to have his bedclothes washed every day. He tried to ignore the discomfort and go back to sleep for precisely ten seconds before getting out of bed and heading towards the washroom.

"Malfoy?" Potter's sleepy voice stopped him. "You all right?"

"Um, y-yeah," he stammered, cursing Potter's timing.

Potter sat up slowly. "No, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Er, nothing, I… I have to go," Draco mumbled, shutting the door and leaning his back against it before taking care of business as quickly and quietly as possible, relief flooding him as he finished. He stayed leaning against the door, floating down from the high, then cleaned himself up and waited for a few more minutes, hoping to find Potter asleep when he went back to bed.

He took a deep breath and quietly opened the washroom door, realizing as soon as he did so that Potter was still sitting up in bed, arms clasped about his drawn-up knees.

"Are you all right?" he repeated as Draco came back to bed. Draco nodded.

"Er... should we talk about this?" Potter said quietly.

"What's there to talk about?"

"I… I know what's happening," Potter said in a rush, "Pomfrey said-"

"Yeah, well, so now you know." Draco was grateful that the room was too dark for Potter to see the blush heating his face, and grateful also that his voice sounded perfectly matter-of-fact. "What's there to talk about?"

"I just thought - I mean, is there - um, is there anything, um... oh never mind." Potter lay back down and turned over, giving up.

Draco lay watching him, noting the tight, uncomfortable line of Potter's shoulders, feeling his restlessness and confusion.

He blew out his breath. "Potter."

"Yeah."

"Are you having dreams too?"

Potter sighed. "Yeah."

"Since when?"

"A few days. I don't know, it's hard to tell."

"What about?"

"What do you think? Pretty much what Pomfrey said." She had informed them with clinical detachment that they could expect the normal night-time teenage male fantasies to start becoming more and more specific and focussed on one another, instead of random images, sensations, or people.

There was a long, strained silence.

"I was really hoping this wouldn't happen," Potter said softly.

"You were hoping for a platonic bond too?"

"Yeah."

"You knew it wasn't likely. Almost impossible. We're not brothers, or lifelong best friends."

"I was still hoping, though." Potter turned over to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling miserably. "And apparently, so were you. Right?"

Draco sighed heavily. "Yeah."

"We'll have to tell Pomfrey."

"You don't say."

Potter closed his eyes. "I don't think..." His brow furrowed and he seemed to be searching for the right words. "I don't think I can do this," he finally said, very softly.

"I don't think we really have a choice," Draco pointed out.

"This is like... it's almost like rape, it's being compelled to have sex when you really don't want to-"

"Merlin, Potter, why do you think involuntary bonding spells are so very illegal?" Draco snapped. Deliver us from the interminably thick, he thought, but stopped himself before saying it out loud. Pomfrey had pointed out, quite rightly, that if he upset Potter too much, Potter might not be able to relax enough to let nature take its course. And while that hadn't bothered Draco in the least at first, he'd come to the grudging realization that it mattered, quite a bit. The more uneasy Potter felt, the longer it would take to get past his resistance. And any kind of pressure was not really an option. His nerves were jangling from Potter's discomfort right now; make Potter any more defensive, and Draco would feel it through their bond.

Wonderful. Here he was, getting seriously aroused more and more often, and the only person who could help him deal with his arousal was a pathetic loser too scared at the thought of losing his virginity and too scared of his own feelings to be able to do anything about either.

And even more infuriating, said pathetic loser was apparently also getting seriously turned on, more and more often, which was probably affecting Draco's own level of arousal, and his was probably affecting Potter's, and they were feeding off each other because of their constant proximity and their stupid, stupid bond, and there was nothing Draco could do to help this situation along. Other than try to conjure or at least fake superhuman patience in order to not frighten this bloody  _child_  he was bonded to.

"I really don't want to, to do... this," Potter stammered. "I mean - I want to, but I don't."

"You will, eventually. It's not actually rape, Potter. By the time you do it, you definitely want to. Otherwise the person you're bonded to won't even want to try anything, because they can feel your objection to it through the bond."

"You can feel it?"

"Of course I can, you-" Draco nearly bit through his tongue to stop the insults from pouring out. "I can tell. You're scared of both of us right now. Me, because you're afraid I'll come on to you, and yourself, because part of you wants me to come on to you."

"How did you know that?" Potter said after a startled moment.

"It's hardly Advanced Arithmancy, Potter." Draco rubbed his forehead, realizing that in the course of their conversation, he'd gotten turned on, again. He sat up. "So, this is marvellous. We're both feeling this, but your little moral scruples and emotional issues are going to conspire to keep us both on edge for who knows how long. That's marvellous. That's... that's just marvellous." Draco firmly shut his mouth and got out of bed before he could say anything else to upset Potter.

"Where are you going?" Potter said, surprised.

"I'm going to have a long cold shower, you git," Draco said, exasperated. "Go back to sleep."

**ooooooo**

**Day 13, Sunday**

"Harry... you can't be afraid of this forever," Lupin said gently that Sunday.

"It's not even that I'm afraid of it, it's, it's, I don't trust him, I don't like him-"

"But-"

"I know. But it's also - we've been fighting even more, ever since-" Harry bit his lip.

Too fast. Everything was out of control.

He desperately wanted to get rid of the dreams, the feelings, the need, the fact that instead of feeling normal, their touches was starting to mean something. Malfoy's hand on Harry's shoulder to get his attention stayed a little too long. Harry's push to get Malfoy out of his way had a bit more force to it, because part of him wanted to pull Malfoy closer instead. They were griping at each other more and more - Harry's clothing draped over their furniture and Malfoy's inability to ever remember where he put his tie were now major issues, and even that had a sexual aspect to it because Harry got distracted by how very  _alive_  Malfoy looked when he was really, really angry. Malfoy's snide remarks and drawling mockery were irritating and showed he was in control. His furious tirade at Harry for leaving his robe over an armchair and thereby hiding the essay Malfoy had spent three hours writing... there was no control or detachment there. There was nothing but spectacular anger over something relatively small, something that would never have driven him to such heights of fury had they not had this tension between them.

And Harry could feel Malfoy's desire and anger and frustration too. He no longer even knew which feelings were his and which were Malfoy's, he just knew there were a lot of them and they were intense and they were all wearing him out.

"You need to be around your other friends," Lupin said.

"But it's, it's embarrassing. In class, or at the library, we start fighting and other people hear it, and, and I hate that they're looking at us. And thinking about what's going on and why we're fighting. Some Slytherins actually have bets going on how long it'll take before..." He swallowed hard. "And Hermione says the Prophet and the Quibbler are still talking about us all the time..."

"Yes, I've seen that." Lupin shook his head in disgust. "Remarkably stupid stuff."

"I'm almost glad we don't eat in the Great Hall these days. People staring at us gets pretty tiresome after a while."

"I can imagine," Lupin said. "Are you having friends over to your place?"

"Not as much. I... we..."

How to explain this? How to explain the discomfort when they caught themselves looking at each other too long and realized people around them had probably noticed? It made Harry blush and stammer; it made Malfoy withdraw coldly or cut into Harry even more in class. It made Malfoy sullenly tell his friends he needed to study alone in their quarters, and made Harry turn his friends away too, not wanting to deal with their knowing glances at each other during his and Malfoy's fights, or their irritation at the way Malfoy treated all of them.

It was horrible. Feeling so isolated and angry and... and scared, so often. And aroused, mustn't forget that, aroused all the time. All the bloody time. Distracted by Malfoy's hair, his eyes, the clean line of his jaw... he found himself fantasizing in class so often he was getting used to it, and yet turning his fantasies into reality was just too awful to consider. He'd be in Arithmancy and he'd eventually realize he'd been thinking of touching Malfoy and his hand was actually resting against Malfoy's, and he'd think of lacing their fingers together and getting closer and then - then Malfoy would look at him with a raised eyebrow and he'd feel repelled and angry and scared.

"Harry?"

"I can't. I can't talk about this," Harry said, a lump forming in his throat. He glanced over to where Malfoy was studying, but Malfoy wasn't studying, Malfoy was watching him, and his eyes were dark and hungry and even as they gazed at each other Harry was feeling the need to move closer to him, to touch him and run away and pull him close and scream at him and-

"I can't. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow," Harry stammered, and bolted from the sitting room without waiting for Lupin's response.

**ooooooo**

**Day 14, Monday**

This was some kind of bizarre psychological torture, thought Draco disconsolately. Potions had never been this dull in almost seven years. It was like Snape was conspiring with whoever set the curse to speak in such a monotonous tone and say such utterly uninteresting things that there was absolutely nothing for Draco's brain to do other than engage in yet another pointless fantasy about Potter. About touching, and holding, and undressing, and moving together, and...

He flushed darkly, unable to concentrate as Potter continued writing next to him, seemingly completely focussed on the lesson and completely oblivious to the turn Draco's thoughts were taking. Draco was rapidly becoming obsessed with the distance between his mouth and Potter's, and Potter was just taking notes. Not even affected through their bond. Draco's anger surged, which unfortunately caused other parts of him to surge too, before he tried to back-pedal and be grateful that Potter wasn't looking at him right now. Otherwise they just might do that oblivious drowning-in-each-other's-gaze thing again and they'd done it too many times and the amused looks on their friends' faces were getting a little old.

So. Potter was not distracted, which was good, because then Draco stood a chance of getting rid of his own distraction. For example, he could take notes, even though they made no sense because the most he could manage to do was write down every sixth or seventh word Snape said. "It recognize and Scandinavian will from turn moreso" were the last words on his page.

Or he could draw a little closer to Potter, just a bit, that would be enough for contact, they'd been doing that more and more lately, it would lessen the gnawing discomfort slightly, maybe...

Potter put his quill down and rubbed his eyes, and Draco glanced at his page.

Potter wasn't taking notes. He'd written out the Danish Futhark Runic alphabet three times and the Greek alphabet once, drawn a picture of a quill, a desk, a chair, Hermione Granger, and twelve little three-dimensional boxes, and set a simple spell to make them all dance across the page.

He elbowed Potter gently. "Pay attention," he murmured. Potter nodded slowly, swallowing hard and picking up his quill and meeting Draco's gaze. Draco felt his heart skip a beat, oh, god, Potter's face was flushed and his lips were slightly parted and Draco's gaze was drawn to them, and Potter was warm and close and his chest was heaving slightly, and the ache was getting worse, god, he couldn't just sit here and do nothing, not when he needed so much to move closer - and he looked down and saw he wasn't the only one showing physical evidence of what was going on inside him, he slid his leg a little closer to Potter, and their legs were pressed against each other, knee to hip, they'd been doing this more and more, lately, but now, now it wasn't comforting, it was maddeningly tantalizing, infuriatingly inadequate, he shifted slightly in his chair, trying to adjust himself discreetly but only succeeded in turning himself on even more, oh god, Potter was moving a little too and he slipped a hand below their desks, touched Potter's leg gently and stilled him. "Don't, that doesn't help," he whispered, and Potter slipped a hand between them too and laced their trembling fingers together and Draco bit his lip to stop a gasp from escaping him.

"We're in class, we can't..." he whispered, frustration growing by the second, this was intolerable, if only he could comfort himself by telling himself that he'd get some relief after class, but he couldn't, Potter was keeping them both at this unbearable level of need-

He clenched his eyes shut and tried to think of something else. No use. He opened his eyes again and Blaise was frowning at him, glancing between him and Potter and raising his eyebrows. Draco shook his head and closed his eyes again, but not before he caught Weasley's blue eyes narrowing, and Weasley reading the situation between them accurately.

"Harry?" Weasley leaned in. "You all right?"

Potter shook his head, letting go of Draco's hand under the desks and covering his face.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape drawled and Draco's stomach flipped over in dismay. "Would you care to tell us which of the properties of ginseng is crucial in this particular potion?"

"No, he wouldn't," Draco said before he could stop himself, distantly appalled at the husky, unsteady tone of his own voice. "Please ask somebody else."

There was a shocked silence, as students turned to look at them and Snape looked taken aback.

"Professor, please ask somebody else," Pansy repeated. Snape cleared his throat and smoothly picked on another student.

"Thanks, Pansy," Draco said quietly.

"You need to get out of class," Weasley was whispering.

"And do what, exactly?" Draco snapped, "Play chess?"

Weasley ignored him. "Look, you can't - Harry, come on. This is stupid. You can't go on like this, you're driving each other mental," he said, his tone worried. Draco felt a surge of gratitude mixed with indignation that Weasley should be the one to plead his case to Potter. Weasley was still talking urgently, but Draco could sense Potter's walls going up and knew Weasley was wasting his time.

"All right, I'm leaving," he decided abruptly, adjusted his robes and started to raise his hand.

"No, don't! Malf-" Potter grabbed at his arm and Draco shook him off.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"May I be excused?" he said as evenly as he could, and Snape's gaze flickered between him and Potter before he gave a curt nod. Draco stood up and walked out of the class, past a roomful of curious eyes, with a furious Potter in tow.

"What the hell was that - do you have no sense of self-control at all?"

"A damn sight more than you have - your own best friend is telling you to get out and get on with it, and you're too stubborn to-"

"Leave Ron out of this!"

"You're going to drive us both insane!" he shouted at Potter, losing all patience.

"You're the one who's driving us both insane! You insist on us being alone almost all the time and when we are around other people you're fucking impossible - how am I supposed to want to-"

"The curse does not say You Will Socialize With Other People, or You Will Coo Like Fucking Lovebirds, Potter! It does say, very specifically, what we're supposed to do, and if you weren't a half-blood Muggle-raised TWIT we would have done it by now!"

"FUCK YOU!" Potter yelled at him.

"Believe me, I'd love to! Unfortunately I'm married to 'I'm Saving Myself Forever For God Only Knows What' and I  _swear_  if you tell me this isn't a marriage I will kill you, this is exactly what marriage is all about, NOT fucking the person you're supposed to fuck, and not being able to fuck anybody else either!"

"I don't TRUST you and I don't LIKE you, can you get that through your thick head!"

"Why can't you get it through your thick head that trust and liking have nothing to do with a bond?"

"You-"

"All right!" Malfoy shouted. "Fine! Have it your way. Lunch is in an hour, we'll go to the Great Hall. And until then, if you'll excuse me I'm going to take yet another freezing cold shower and try to stay as far away from you as humanly possible."

**ooooooo**

By the time they arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, the anger between them was so thick they could hardly see. Potter headed straight for the Gryffindor table and on impulse, Draco dropped into a seat at the Slytherin table. Potter stopped, looking back at Draco in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"I said we would eat at the Great Hall. I didn't say where."

"I'm not sitting at your table."

"Fine. Have a nice lunch," Draco spat out, grabbing a plate and getting himself lunch. Soup, salad, pumpkin juice, all regular fare, back at his old table with his old house mates and it all would have felt wonderfully homey if only his head hadn't been pounding and his eyesight getting a little blurry.

He started to eat mechanically, not joining into the conversation around him, willing the physical and emotional discomfort away and trying desperately to focus on something, anything, else. Like, for example, the interesting way in which the conversation was ebbing and flowing at the Slytherin table, as his tablemates traded curious looks about his presence and dropped odd, awkward silences here and there.

Interesting, yes. Except that it was difficult to focus on that when the world seemed to be narrowing down to nothing but disorienting physical and emotional sensations and commands. Aching desire, buzzing, nausea, frazzled nerves, headache, itch, pit-of-the-stomach dread, weariness. Touch, lie down, get up, move, scream, give in, cry, sleep...

He gripped the edge of the table and focussed on the table top as the world started spinning and the voices around him got louder and softer and silent and screaming and

"Draco? Draco? Are you all-" and then the table swam out of sight and the world went black.

**ooooooo**

Snape looked up in time to see Draco Malfoy suddenly slump forward and Pansy Parkinson catch him on her shoulder, the rest of his tablemates getting up and exclaiming with alarm - and at the Gryffindor table, Potter stood up unsteadily, turning towards the Slytherin table and choking out "No-" before he too fell and was caught by Weasley. In an instant Snape and McGonagall were rushing towards their tables, wading into the small crowds of Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Snape caught Draco, taking in his ashen features, trembling form, half-closed eyes. Draco moaned softly, trying to move away from Snape's touch, his breath coming in shaking gasps.

"Severus!" McGonagall called out, "bring him here." But Snape was already doing so, muttering a lightening spell and picking Draco up in his arms like a child, and hurrying to the Gryffindor table where McGonagall had placed Potter. He gently put Draco down next to him, touching their shoulders together, and let out his breath with relief as both boys seem to sense each other's presence and relax, their breath less gasping, their shaking less pronounced.

McGonagall was watching them worriedly, and Weasley was saying something to her. "Yes, do," she said. "We need Madam Pomfrey." Weasley took off at a run. Snape smoothed Draco's hair back from his forehead, noting that his skin was damp and his pulse racing.

"Poppy warned us that this might happen," McGonagall said. "I should have insisted they sit at the same table, they weren't supposed to be out of contact, but they were both so fed up with each other-"

"Let me through!" Madam Pomfrey's brusque voice could be heard. "Come on, now!" She bustled into view, taking in the two unconscious boys on the table.

"What happened?" she demanded, touching their foreheads and beginning an examination of both of them.

"They were eating-" McGonagall began.

"Where?"

"Potter was at the Gryffindor table and Malfoy was with the Slytherins-" McGonagall faltered as Pomfrey's head snapped up and pinned her with an incredulous glare.

"They were at separate tables!" she hissed, and McGonagall and Snape quailed. Potter gave a small groan and moved and she murmured something under her breath that seemed to comfort him, before fixing McGonagall and Snape with her glare again. "Who allowed that to happen?"

"Poppy, they were driving each other mad, they-"

"Well of course they were driving each other mad, anybody would, forced to spend all day every day with somebody they hated, but that's not the point! They were not supposed to be out of close contact for more than five minutes at a time! What part of that was not clear?"

"They seemed to be all right-" Snape began.

"Do they look all right to you? Call yourselves responsible adults - you should have handcuffed them together before letting them do something this stupid! Do you realize that their progress may be set back by  _weeks_? You are supposed to keep them safe from their own idiocy, and instead you let  _this_  happen!"

The students stood gaping as Pomfrey lashed out at two professors in public, and the two professors took it silently.

"Now, step back, all of you - out of my way! Minerva, Severus, pick them up, help me get them to the hospital. Honestly, I can't - that's all right, Mr. Malfoy," she said soothingly as Draco's eyes fluttered open and he made a small fearful sound. "We're just going to the hospital, you'll be all right - going to have nightmares for a week, that one, mark my words - no, that's all right, it's just us, Mr. Potter," she shushed him too. "You'll be all right in a few minutes..." and the small procession left the dining hall, Pomfrey continuing her tirade well into the hallway.

**ooooooo**

**Day 15, Tuesday**

Draco opened his eyes and groaned. The bloody hospital. And his head was killing him. In fact, most of him hurt abominably.

"Draco? Are you awake?" a soft voice said, close to his ear, and he turned to see Pansy next to his bed.

"I'm at the hospital again?"

"Yeah. How much do you remember?"

"Not much. We were at the dining hall and I felt dizzy-"

"You were positively grey. Then you fainted, and so did Potter, and Madam Pomfrey brought you both here."

Bloody hell. Sure enough, there was Potter, still unconscious next to him. He groaned again, rubbing his eyes and trying to think past the searing pain.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

"No," he managed to gasp. "Get Pomfrey-" she sped away.

"You're up now, are you Mr. Malfoy? Well you'll notice you're feeling a little less than 100 per cent. You did yourselves a lot of damage with that little stunt."

"I just wanted to get away from-"

"Yes, no doubt. But that splitting headache and other pains you're feeling right now are your payment for that little moment of separate peace."

"Didn't feel like peace - oh," he gasped, trying to muffle his gasps of pain.

"Here," Pomfrey grabbed Potter's shoulder and manoeuvred him around, much to Draco's confusion. "I'm trying to get him so that you have as much surface area touching each other as possible."

"What?"

"It'll make the pain lessen. Here, pretend he's a teddy bear, that ought to do it."

Blushing a little at Pansy being there to witness this, but willing to do anything that might lessen the pain, Draco took Potter into his arms, tucking Potter's head into his own shoulder and arranging himself against Potter's unconscious form. He sighed as the pain lessened perceptibly.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, closing his eyes. God, yes, much better, but still horrible. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to let go of Potter again, not if it meant feeling the way he'd been feeling for the last few minutes.

A wave of resentment and weariness flooded through him. He wasn't supposed to have to deal with this. He was supposed to be thinking of NEWTs and the ascension of the Dark Lord, not worrying about whether his head would split open in agony if he didn't cuddle up to his family's - and, incidentally, the Dark Lord's - mortal enemy like a bloody teddy bear.

**ooooooo**

"Draco."

Oh, wonderful. Draco kept his eyes closed, in too much pain to really feel as mortified as he probably should. "Father."

There was a small scraping sound as Lucius Malfoy took a chair next to Draco's bed.

Then a long, long silence.

"Severus explained what happened." Lucius' tone was very mild. Draco nodded. "You look terrible."

Draco nodded again.

"Are you able to speak?" Lucius' mild tone held a hint of reproof, and Draco opened his eyes and tried to meet his steady gaze. He sighed, looking away.

"I would like to hear it from you," Lucius said, his tone still the epitome of reason and concerned fatherhood. "Because it appears that you brought this upon yourselves."

"We did."

"I see."

Another long silence.

"Has he regained consciousness yet?"

No need to ask who 'he' was, as 'he' was currently peacefully slumbering, his head resting on Draco's shoulder and his body pressed up along the length of Draco's.

"Not yet. Madam Pomfrey says he's all right, it just hit him a bit harder than me."

"I see."

These long silences were getting uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco said, closing his eyes again.

"I would imagine so," Lucius said. "May I ask why you decided to disregard medical advice and all common sense and allow yourself to be separated from your very newly bonded spouse?"

"I don't know."

"That seems unlikely."

Draco sighed. "I couldn't stand him any more. He's... he's impossible-" and with vague horror, he realized his throat was closing up and he was in real danger of starting to cry. He held his breath and sent his mind off to other places - Arithmancy tables seemed as good a place as any - to avoid ending up crying in front of his father, of all people.

Lucius waited patiently for Draco to regain his composure. "Your professors indicated that you have been rather hostile to one another lately. It's unfortunate that your mother and I had to hear it from them instead of you. I was under the impression that the sharing of accurate and relevant information was part of the reason that you were supposed to speak with us every night?"

Draco swallowed hard. "I didn't - I didn't want to... it didn't seem that important, we've been fighting the whole time, I didn't want to bother you with-" he cut himself off as Potter stirred.

Potter opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at his surroundings and raising his head off of Draco's shoulder. He drew in a startled breath at the sight of Draco's father staring at him dispassionately two feet away. He started to sit up and Draco tightened his hold on him.

"Don't. Your head'll feel like it's falling to pieces. Besides, we're supposed to stay in contact as much as possible." Potter's body felt stiff with resistance and discomfort, and Draco unthinkingly rubbed Potter's shoulder gently, trying to calm him a little. Potter, never taking his eyes off Lucius, gradually relaxed and settled back against Draco's shoulder with a sigh.

"How touching," Lucius said with mild disdain. "If you had conducted yourselves as responsible adults, this charming little public display of affection would not have been necessary, would it?"

"We can't know that, Mr. Malfoy," said Pomfrey, who had noticed Potter waking up and had approached their bed. "We informed you that Madam Pantere believes the spell was not cast competently. They might have ended up in the hospital eventually anyway, from side effects caused by the inadequacy of the spell."

"They might have. They did not. They ended up here because they behaved as children instead of grown men."

"They are not grown men, sir," Pomfrey stated firmly. "They may be legally of age, but they are still teenage boys forced to face a situation that would be difficult for anybody, adult or not." Pomfrey fixed Lucius with a level gaze. "In any case, it might be a good idea to save the recriminations for later, when they are more fully recovered. Now if you'll excuse us, I need to examine my patients." She waited a beat. "In private."

Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, but stood and calmly left the hospital, not deigning to look at Draco or Potter as he left.

"Now then, Potter," Pomfrey said briskly, "We'll see how you're doing and then see about getting you some dinner."

"Dinner? How long was I out?"

"Almost thirty hours." Potter blanched. "Yes, that was quite a stunt you two pulled," she said dryly. "Don't worry about it, what's done is done. Now, sit up, please. Malfoy, you too, this won't take but a minute."

**ooooooo**

Draco sighed against Potter's shoulder, wishing he could just go back to sleep and forget any of this had ever happened. Unfortunately, Graciele Esposito, the Bonding Spell Disorders specialist from St. Mungo's, wanted to have a meeting with the entire merry band of parent-figures, professors and medical personnel who were part of their special 'case.' And so here they were. Still in their hospital bed, finally allowed to sit up but still forced to remain in very close contact or risk severe discomfort, with enough people arranged around them to hold a bloody séance.

"All right, let's begin," said Esposito. "Obviously, we're all very worried about what happened yesterday, and would like to make sure it doesn't happen again. You boys were lucky; you may have fainted, but you appear to be all right except for some minor discomfort. The damage could have been much, much worse. Either or both of you could have suffered a heart attack, or gone into a permanent coma." She fixed them with a serious look. "And in any case, your progress has been thrown off, which means that it will probably take you even longer than we thought to get back to a state where you can be apart safely and comfortably for longer than a few minutes. This is very serious, boys. It's no joke, messing around with a bonding spell."

Draco bit his lip, not needing a bond to feel Potter's resentment and fear, as Potter's body grew tense against his and Draco was feeling the same way anyway. Potter tightened his arm around Draco's shoulder slightly.

"However. I trust you've both been frightened enough by what happened that you will behave more responsibly in the future?"

Draco and Potter quickly nodded.

"All right then. Madam Pomfrey and I have spent the day discussing the situation while you were unconscious, and we've decided to make a few changes to deal with your particular situation. The most important change concerns your living arrangements." She cleared her throat. "After speaking to your friends from both houses, we believe part of the problem is that while we've tried to give you guidance and support from adults, we've isolated you from your peers at a time when you need them most.

"I... I think we may have been too hasty in treating you as adults. That, combined with the fact that your houses are generally considered rivals... well. At the time, we felt there was no viable alternative to removing you from your houses. We now feel that was a mistake. You were told when you came to Hogwarts that your houses were to be your families while you were here, and we removed those families without really replacing them with anything equivalent."

"But Malfoy can't come with me into the Tower, and I can't go with him into the Dungeons, there's nothing else to be done-" Potter began, and McGonagall spoke up.

"There is, Potter. We simply did not think it would be feasible when this first happened. In light of yesterday's events, Professor Snape and I have spoken to your house mates and explained the situation to them, and decreed that you both be allowed access to both houses. You are encouraged sit at each other's tables in the Great Hall, use each other's common rooms and even go back to sleeping in your dormitories if you wish. And if you choose to do that we will teach you a spell to put on the curtains to effectively make a separate room for yourselves once they're drawn, so that nobody will be able to walk in on you or overhear anything."

Draco was almost amused enough to smirk through his weariness at Potter's embarrassment at that last remark. Gryffindors. So prudish.

"We're also going to take the chance on other spells," Esposito told them. "Cheering charms, calming spells, things like that. We felt it wasn't prudent to do that, especially since we'd discovered your particular bonding was not done with the greatest of skill, but I think you've conclusively proven that doing nothing is disastrous. We'll simply have to take our chances and monitor you to make sure any spells we use don't react negatively with your bond."

"Any questions?" asked Pomfrey.

Draco shook his head tiredly, not wanting to prolong this discussion any further.

"I have a question," Lucius Malfoy said, and Draco was hard-pressed not to groan in dismay - not only because a question would mean he couldn't go to sleep yet, but because he recognized his father's 'I am going to get my way despite the fact that nobody here will like it' tone. And knowing the people gathered around them... he couldn't imagine his father would be able to bully them quickly and efficiently and let him get some rest anytime soon.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"It is my understanding that this current... breakdown in their bond was due in large part to Mr. Potter's reluctance in accepting certain aspects of the bonding spell?"

Draco could feel Potter's heart beat faster as Potter took a startled breath.

"I wouldn't say that's entirely accurate-" Healer Esposito began and Lucius interrupted her smoothly.

"I assume that you will be dealing with that reluctance by magical means as well?"

" _What?_ " Potter sat up, outraged, and Draco ground his teeth in frustration as the room erupted into argument.

How completely typical, and what a complete waste of time. His father was, as usual, convinced that he could intimidate anybody into doing whatever he wanted, but judging from Potter's reaction, Potter would sooner agree to a Cruciatus curse than any 'reluctance-dispelling' magical spell, charm or potion. A brief glance around the room showed that nobody except possibly Snape felt that Lucius' suggestion had any merit.

And knowing Potter's deeply ingrained stubbornness, and knowing too that Potter would be fully backed by Dumbledore and McGonagall, to say nothing of a distinguished Healer from St. Mungo's and Madam Pomfrey, Draco knew without a doubt that his father would lose.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, quickly losing the train of the discussion. He didn't need to listen anyway. Potter would say that he would not consent to any more spells that interfered with his personal life. His father would point out that it wasn't just Potter's personal life that was being affected, but Draco's as well, and that since any reluctance on Potter's part was solely a product of inadequate Muggle upbringing it certainly shouldn't be taken seriously. McGonagall would claim that there was no reason why they couldn't be patient, Pomfrey would point out that Lucius was not a healer and had no idea what he was talking about, Snape would say that Lucius had a point and Potter was insufferably stubborn, the Healer would no doubt say something profound, Dumbledore would mostly just observe, and Draco had no idea what the bloody werewolf would say but it didn't matter anyway because nobody but dotty old Dumbledore and Potter himself would put any weight on what Lupin said anyway.

Draco leaned back against the pillows, utterly uninterested in the ebb and flow of the arguments around him, and thought instead about the Slytherin common room.

Slytherin house... he'd just about reconciled himself to never returning, and had told himself it didn't matter. It was just a dormitory, after all. Rather better furnished than most, as Slytherin tended to attract slightly more wealthy and refined students than, say, Hufflepuff, but still merely a school dormitory. Not worth getting attached to, especially not for the Malfoy heir. He'd even told himself that, despite the lamentable circumstances and the horror of sharing his living space with Potter, it was actually rather pleasant to have a suite of his own. Rather more appropriate for his station in life than being jammed into a dormitory with seventy other students.

Except that a small part of his mind kept reminding him that he would have an entire lifetime of his own quarters. This was the last year he would have the opportunity to live with a group of people his own age; studying together, forging alliances that would influence his adult life, even having fun together once in a while, doing the stupid things teenagers were supposed to do before they settled down to familial duty.

That small part of his mind had mourned the sudden loss of all of that as much as other parts of him had mourned the loss of Quidditch, the loss of his freedom, the loss of any suitable match that would benefit the Malfoys, the loss of prestige to their family because of the dismal match he was stuck with, the probable loss of his father's influence among the Dark Lord's supporters...

And now he could have back at least a tiny part of what he had lost.

Or could he?

He could go back to Slytherin, yes. But he'd be doing so with his ever-present sidekick. What would that mean? Would anybody trust him - as much as any Slytherin could be trusted, that is? Would anybody lower their guard enough to speak frankly to him of things Potter shouldn't hear? Would anybody believe that when Potter said he had a silence spell cast, he really meant it? For that matter, did Draco trust that himself?

How would he fit in again? How would his house mates feel, having been forced to accept Potter's presence among them? Especially since they would be accepting it solely to help Draco, whose bond was killing him because he was... what? Lonely? The Malfoy heir, unable to handle a slight inconvenience like an unpleasant marriage because he was lonely?

Oh, shit. That wouldn't be good. His house mates would have less respect for him, and would probably feel that he was indebted to them for allowing him back amongst them.

Although that might depend on how Snape had 'decreed' that Potter was to be welcomed into Slytherin house. Snape was a shrewd player, and had always been supportive of the Malfoys. Draco should probably ask him how he'd put the situation across to the house. Hopefully he'd made Potter sound like the lonely scared child he was and indicated that since the Gryffindor needed his house, it would be unfair to not allow Draco access to his own house, whether Draco needed it or not. He should probably ask Snape-

"...Draco?"

Draco suddenly realized everyone was silent and looking at him, and he stifled his alarm at the realization that the last voice he remembered hearing was his father's and he had absolutely no idea what he'd been talking about.

"I'm sorry, Father, could you repeat that?" he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

"I asked what you thought," said Lucius with the air of impatient condescension that always stung Draco.

"About-"

"About using magical means to facilitate the sexual part of your bond," Pomfrey said bluntly.

"No," Draco said without thinking, and almost bit his tongue in horror as he realized he'd just done. Flatly disagreed with his father, in front of other people. Panic threatened to flood him as he met Lucius' incredulous gaze and desperately tried to maintain a casual air while frantically trying to figure out how to salvage the situation. Shit shit shit shit shit how could he have just said that what the  _hell_  was he thinking shit shit shit-

Relax. Breathe. It's all right.

He almost heard the words; felt the panic shimmer and break like a bubble, realized there was no emergency here. He glanced down at Potter's hand, calmly resting on his arm. So he'd disagreed; as long as he didn't show blatant disrespect towards Lucius, there was a chance that Lucius could be made to accept what he had said with a modicum of grace.

"I mean, obviously it's a good idea-" the hand on his arm tightened painfully, "but I don't think we need to resort to that yet, especially if we're not sure how other spells will affect the bond." The hand relaxed. He smiled, "And, no offence, but being the victim of one botched personal spell doesn't make me terribly eager to try out another even more personal spell, in case that one's botched too. I don't even want to imagine how that one could go wrong," he shuddered exaggeratedly and there was a small rustle of amusement among the adults.

And thank Merlin and Mordred, the dangerous light in his father's eyes was gone and there was instead a small smile curving his lips. And the feel off Potter was... cautious acceptance. Interesting.

He looked down at Potter's hand, still on his arm, looked up again. Potter was watching him curiously, his head tilted to one side like he was trying to figure something out.

"In any case, you won't have to worry about anything like that for a few days at least," Healer Esposito said. "As I said, your bond was damaged. You're too weak to feel anything sexual, probably for another week. By then, who knows, maybe you will have worked things out. Miracles have been known to happen."

There was a small pause.

"Right, then," Pomfrey said, glancing over both of them. "We've still got a few other things to discuss, but I'd like to finish this up as soon as possible. I've got two patients here who need to sleep."

**ooooooo**

Finally. All done. Draco's eyes were closing even as his father left the room. He lay down, blessed relief flowing through him. Sleep, thank god.

He mumbled "Potter, did you do something to me during that meeting? When my father asked me what I thought about spells for you?"

"Yeah, did you feel something?" Potter said, yawning and lying down too.

"Yeah, you'll have to tell me what you did," Draco yawned too, turning onto his side, drawing close to Potter and throwing an arm over Potter's chest.

"Yeah, OK, tomorrow." Potter drew Draco's arm closer and settled himself against Draco. "Did you mean it when you said you didn't want to use them?"

"Bloody hell, yes," Draco muttered. "Fucking stupid idea."

Potter chuckled. "You'll have to explain what you mean by that."

"Tomorrow," they both said, and Draco smiled tiredly.

"Good night, Potter."

"Yeah, good night."

**ooooooo**

**Day 16, Wednesday**

Harry stifled a yawn as he tried to make himself concentrate on his Potions readings. Good god, how could anybody enjoy this or do it as a living.

He glanced over at Malfoy, still sleeping, wondering if he should ask for help when Malfoy woke up. Decided not to. Malfoy might be one of the best students in Potions, but he was a lousy teacher - no patience, no gift for explaining the concepts, no desire to help other students. Occasionally Harry had seen him help out fellow Slytherins, but his help always seemed to be bought by large favours.

Besides, it wasn't as though he needed any more social contact with Malfoy than was absolutely necessary.

Harry rubbed his eyes, wondering if maybe he should just go back to sleep, but feeling a little out of sorts. That seemed to be all they'd been doing today. Other than breakfast and lunch, and brief visits from Pomfrey, a few teachers and friends, most of their day had been spent unconscious. Pomfrey had explained that they were recovering and should just allow themselves to rest for the next couple of days, but Harry was getting bored.

However. Reading Potions certainly wasn't helping his boredom. He put his book away and lay down, automatically fitting himself along Malfoy's sleeping form. He stared blankly at their night-table, counting the drawers and nicks and scratches on it, then stared at the shelves, trying to figure out what Pomfrey kept in them.

"Potter?" Malfoy's sleepy voice was followed by Malfoy turning over and squinting at the ceiling. "What time is it?"

"Almost five."

"Oh." Malfoy rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Mm, you never told me what you did last night," he said fuzzily.

"When?"

"When my father asked me a question."

"Oh, that." Harry tried to think. "I don't know, really - I think I just tried to project calm at you."

"Project calm?"

"You were – tense." Harry barely stopped himself before he could say 'scared'. "I tried to imagine defusing that. Did it work?"

"Yeah."

"What did it feel like?" Malfoy shrugged. "How did you know I did something?"

"I don't know." Malfoy thought for a minute. "It... it felt odd. Like there was somebody suggesting how I should feel, inside my mind. A bit like feeling what you feel through the bond. But... different." There was a slight pause. "What made you think of doing it?"

"I don't know. I think I just remembered what Pomfrey told us that first day, about some of the advantages of bonding, and that was one of them - being able to help the other person feel steadier."

Malfoy frowned. "I didn't need you to do that."

Harry thought quickly. Yes, he bloody well had - his panic had been flooding through to Harry from their bond - but Malfoy apparently didn't want to admit to it. "We were both tired. And I wanted to get back to sleep and I thought if you had extra help to help you think of what to say, you might be able to end the discussion faster."

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, well, it worked."

"Imagine that," said Harry dryly. "Finally, a benefit to this stupid thing. And it only took sixteen days to find it." Malfoy snickered.

"Why didn't you agree with your father about the... you know, the spells?" Harry asked, taking advantage of this unexpectedly civil conversation they were having.

"I knew you'd never agree to it. You're too stubborn, and Dumbledore and McGonagall were going to back you up anyway. Waste of time, talking about it."

Harry nodded. That made sense. It was a little surprising that Malfoy had seen that, but he supposed even Malfoy could sometimes see the blatantly obvious and recognize a lost cause when he saw one.

"Do you suppose they'll let us go tomorrow?" he asked idly.

"Probably not. Pomfrey said it'll take a few days before we don't need to sleep all the time."

"Mm." Harry closed his eyes.

"Damn," said Malfoy suddenly.

"What?"

"We had a paper due for Transfiguration today."

"I think McGonagall might be persuaded to allow us a bit of extra time."

"I don't like getting so far behind in school work."

"Why do you care?" Harry asked curiously.

"What?"

"About your marks, about school work. It's not like  _you_  have to get top grades in order to be hired by the Ministry or anything."

"God, Potter, you are clueless," Malfoy snickered. "It's not about getting a job, it's about earning respect in order to have influence over other people. Just because you're the heir of a respected family, that doesn't mean you can just sit back and let your name do everything for you."

"It doesn't?"

"No, you twit. If you're a blithering idiot, no mere name is enough to earn anybody's respect. My father doesn't just get people to do what he wants because he's from an old family; he's also very intelligent and people know it."

"He's also an arrogant manipulating-" Harry bit back the rest of his opinion and Malfoy chuckled.

"You say that as though it's a bad thing."

"It is."

"Potter, should I remind you that that's your father-in-law you're talking about?"

"Oh god, no," Harry groaned, and Malfoy laughed. Harry smiled, then felt a sudden shock of realization.

Malfoy had laughed at something Harry had said. Not maliciously, not derisively, but with genuine humour. What's more, he'd teased him, and not in a malicious way either. Like one would tease a friend. And they'd been having a perfectly civil conversation - and not for the first time, either. Just an exchange of opinions and ideas, with no ulterior motive of hurting one another.

Harry swallowed hard. Things had changed, again; they'd changed without Harry really noticing, and he was only now coming to that realization at this particular moment in time, as they lay in each other's arms, where they'd been for the last couple of days. The fact that they'd ended up here because they loathed each other so much they'd deliberately done something amazingly dangerous just to get away from each other didn't seem to matter as much as the fact that they weren't actively hating each other right now. Whether it was the forced continual contact or the exhaustion or something else, they were currently existing in a place beyond their hatred and resentment and it was... a little frightening.

"What does he think about all of this?" Harry asked, grasping for something to say to keep him from thinking about this too much.

"Father? He's delighted. He always hoped I'd marry far below my station, to somebody completely inappropriate in just about every conceivable way. This exceeds his wildest dreams."

Harry noted the waspish tone and tried not to think about what it meant that part of him was rather relieved to hear it. "Does he blame you?"

"For walking through a door? Merlin, Potter, my father has high expectations of me but I don't think even he could think that this is my fault."

"Still, I'm sure this is making things... awkward for your family."

"I'm sure it is," Malfoy said curtly.

"Doesn't he tell you?"

"With you in the room every time we talk? Oddly, no."

"I use a silence spell."

"Yes, and Slytherins are well known for trusting the honesty of their rivals. It's part of how we get ahead in life."

Harry decided to drop the subject. They were getting into a dicey area, and while part of him was a little relieved to be back on familiar semi-hostile territory, he didn't want to go overboard with it. He briefly debated asking Malfoy what he thought about going back to their houses once they were released, then realized he not only didn't care, but he really didn't feel up to talking about anything any more right now.

"Can you turn the light away from me if you're going to study?" he asked, turning over and getting comfortable and dropping right back down to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, there is a silly picture Harry's Potions class doodles at
> 
> i9.photobucket.com/albums/a71/AnnaFugazzi/BondCh3.gif
> 
> And Chibitoaster has a picture of the scene itself at
> 
> www.chibitoaster.com/potions_class.jpg


	4. October 15 - October 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, Kyllikki, for beta.

**Day 17, Thursday**

Draco turned over his portkeys, idly examining them as Potter and his friends caught up. Dumbledore had given them both special portkeys keyed to their shared bedroom as well as their respective dorm rooms. That way they could easily move from one to the other without needing to walk all over the castle every time they left something behind at one of the three places they were going to be staying.

Draco glanced around the Gryffindor common room with curiosity. He'd been here before, the day that Potter had moved out, but hadn't stayed long enough to get a feel for the place. Now, though, he noticed the squashy chairs, the inevitable gold and red colour scheme, the excessive use of portraits as wall coverings. It wasn't bad. Even though it tended more towards comfort than elegance, it wasn't that bad. He could get used to it. Apparently, he would have to.

He pulled out his books. Not feeling terribly energetic, he opted to read Potions, which could always be counted on to keep him focussed. Thinking of studying Transfiguration right now made his head hurt. Abysmally difficult subject, taught by an abysmally humourless teacher. He'd be out like a light in minutes, and he didn't fancy falling asleep surrounded by Gryffindors.

Once more he was grateful to Snape for having played the return to their dorms in exactly the right way for his housemates. In his current state, he would not have wanted to be near Slytherins, with their unerring instinct for detecting weakness. Instead he'd been able to agree to returning to Gryffindor first with no damage to his image.

"Well don't spend all your time over there, Draco," Pansy had told him. "We'd like to see you too, whether Potter misses his little friends or not. Frankly we're all rather peeved that it's all about Poor Little Potty's emotional needs. So bloody typical of this place."

"I'll come by eventually," Draco had said. "I'll probably spend all of my time there studying, I'm so bloody far behind."

"Really? You're not going to do a little reconnaissance work for us over there - uncover dastardly Gryffindor plots for world domination and all that?"

"Please. They're Gryffindors. Their idea of a dastardly plot is 'let's work really hard and endanger our lives for no good reason'."

He glanced briefly at Potter, chatting animatedly with some third-years. About what, Draco had no idea, since he'd performed a silence spell as soon as basic courtesy could allow. It did feel a little odd to be sitting in the midst of a rather large welcoming party and not hear a thing, but it certainly beat making small talk with Potter's friends.

He buried himself into Potions. They were so bloody far behind that it was disheartening to think of even starting to catch up. Instead, he flipped over to the section on energy potions, even though they didn't need to know it right now. He and Potter were going to be taking some of the potions to help keep them awake in class tomorrow, even though they would only be attending about half the day. He may as well understand what it was he was going to be ingesting.

This lethargy was incredibly annoying. Who would've believed that resisting the damned curse would be so damaging? They'd been told, of course, and had read the material they'd been given about the spell, but it was rather different reading that "the patient might experience severe loss of energy for several days" and living it. He looked up and ended the silence spell as Potter touched his knee.

"What?"

"Seamus got liquorice melts, do you want one?" He held one out. Draco smiled - liquorice melts, only his favourite Honeydukes product.

"Thanks," he said to Finnigan, as the melt dissolved and suffused his mouth with a taste of liquorice which would stay for about an hour. He turned back to his Potions reading, setting the silence spell again. Potter tapped his knee again.

"Yes?"

"There's also fizzbees and-"

"Potter, please leave me alone. Some of us care more about our marks than we do about socializing and eating sweets."

Potter shrugged. "Fair enough, I just didn't want you to feel left out."

"That's very noble of you, but I'm a Slytherin in the Gryffindor common room. Left out is exactly where I'd most like to be, thanks."

"Point taken." Potter grinned and turned away, leaving Draco to study without further interference.

It really was rather remarkable, Draco thought as he tried to figure his way through a particularly tricky question, how easy it was to get used to some things. Like, for example, existing in a bubble of serene silence in the midst of a party. Other than the occasional touch of Potter's arm or leg against his and the occasional intrusion of his own thoughts, there really wasn't anything else to distract him from the subject he was studying.

And when the subject was as intricate and demanding as Potions, it was easy to drop into it and think of nothing but the interaction of various properties and the patterns they made. For example, valerian, used for its sedative properties, somehow became a disinhibitor when combined with tadpoles. Tadpoles also turned crystal mermaid tears into stimulants and powdered dragon scales into mood brighteners, and if you could figure out how they did what they did to those three substances, you could start figuring out how to use them for brand new potions. The real challenge of Potions was in understanding the properties and patterns of substances well enough to make your own potions, not just following what - he looked up as Potter tapped his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I need to get to bed," Potter said, yawning. "Are you just about done?"

"I wanted to finish this last section-"

"Malfoy, you've been reading for almost two hours."

Draco glanced around the common room, a little surprised. The room bore all the signs that a great celebration had occurred - plates and cups scattered over almost every available flat surface, wrappers from Honeydukes products underfoot, remnants of Exploding Snap games. The few people left were mostly older, and mostly somewhat subdued, speaking in low tones.

"Right." He stood up, marked his place in the book and stretched, then started to follow Potter.

"Good night, Harry," Finnigan said, "...and Malfoy," he added after a small hesitation.

Draco turned back, a little startled. "Good night," he said automatically, his forehead furrowing slightly as he turned to follow Potter up the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dorm.

"You're confused," Potter observed as they climbed the stairs.

"What? No I'm not."

"Startled, then."

"No. Maybe. Never mind. Don't do the mind-reading thing, it's annoying."

"Sorry." Potter let the way to the washrooms and they started getting ready for bed. Draco wrinkled his nose at the communal sinks and the counter space fouled by somebody else's shaving potion. This was one thing he had definitely appreciated about his own quarters; not having to share washroom space with anybody but Potter. While not the tidiest person elsewhere, he had at least kept their washroom pristine.

"Is everybody else still at the party?" Draco asked as they reached the empty dorm.

"It's only eleven on a Thursday night, Malfoy. Don't tell me Slytherin seventh years are already in bed by now."

"Eleven?" Draco realized he was utterly disoriented as to time. Must be the product of spending so much of the last few days sleeping.

"Besides, I think... um, I think they wanted to give us some privacy," Potter added as they got into bed.

Draco chuckled, "Not much need of that, thank god. Not for while, hopefully."

Potter shrugged uncomfortably. "Pomfrey and Esposito said they didn't know when-"

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Draco said dismissively.

"Easy for you to say."

"What?"

"Well it's not a problem for you, is it?"

"Not a problem to want to shag a bloody virgin whom I find personally distasteful and who's too scared to try anything anyway?" Draco said cuttingly. "No, in fact it's very pleasant. I highly recommend it to anyone who's looking for an ulcer."

"Oh, forget it," Potter said, turning his back to Draco.

"How could it not be a problem?"

"Never mind. Sorry I said anything."

Draco briefly considered asking Potter what he'd meant, then decided he really didn't care enough to know. "Fine. Good night."

"Good night."

**ooooooo**

**Day 19, Saturday**

"God, it's good to be home," Harry commented in the middle of Ron's account of the latest Chudley Cannons debacle, and Ron smiled.

"I still can't believe you're back," he said. They'd both woken up somewhat early for a Saturday, Ron had gone down to the Great Hall to get them a bit of breakfast, and now here they were, sipping cocoa, keeping their voices low so as not to disturb the four other boys still soundly asleep in the room.

"Yeah, neither can I," Harry said, smiling.

There had been a few moments of awkwardness, of course. Like yesterday morning, when a red-faced Ron had woken him up for class while obviously trying very, very hard to pretend he didn't see Malfoy still sleeping in Harry's arms. But mostly, he was home and it felt wonderful.

This is what I've missed the most, thought Harry. Nothing huge, just being with friends, being able to chat about nothing and everything.

"Was it horrible, living with him? Was he a right awful git?" Ron paused. "And are you sure he's asleep?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Harry chuckled, glancing back at his bed, where only a splash of white-gold was visible over the blankets. "I can... sort of feel him when he's awake. Not really, but... it's weird, I can't really explain it. It's like if I stop and think for a minute, I can tell roughly how he's feeling. And right now he's feeling asleep."

"Good. Yeah, Bill said he could feel Fleur like that after their bonding. Mind you, he knew her before they did the spell. I don't know how much was the spell and how much was just them."

"Bit of both, probably. Although I knew Malfoy, I suppose, before the spell... of course that's not such a good thing," Harry said a little bitterly.

"No, too right."

There was an awkward silence.

"I'm glad you're back, though. Even if you do have to bring him along."

"Yeah, me too."

"It's going to be tough when you go stay in his dorm."

"Yeah, I know. It's bad enough sitting with his friends in class and mealtimes. I agreed that it was only fair, if we spend the night here we should spend the day with them, but they're such wankers. You all treat him just fine-"

"Which is more than he deserves-"

"And they really don't return the favour."

"No, I wouldn't think so. And he probably encourages them, doesn't he?"

"No, he doesn't," Harry said, realizing it for the first time. Malfoy still made fun of him in class, but not nearly as much as before, and he never egged on the Slytherin mockery of Harry any more. Harry frowned as he mentally ran over the previous day's classes. "In fact... I think it bothers him."

"Malfoy? Bothered that the Slytherins are acting like idiots around you?"

"Yeah."

"D'you think maybe he's ill?"

Harry laughed. "No, it's nothing to do with me, I don't think, it's that he feels what I feel through the bond."

"Yeah, that's what Hermione said when McGonagall said you were going to be coming back here; she went into this long speech about how we had to be polite to Malfoy, or at least not be rude to him, because you'd probably get the backlash from it."

"She was right."

"Yeah, I knew that, from people I've known before who were just married, but honestly, Harry, I really hadn't thought of that with Malfoy." He sipped his cocoa, thinking. "I wonder why he doesn't tell the Slytherins to leave you alone, if it bothers him."

"He'd never do that. Tell them that a good way to get to him is to bother me? They're Slytherins, they'll grab any chance to build themselves up by tearing somebody else down. I get the feeling he's working hard enough to not get torn down as it is; he doesn't need to give them a road map to how to get on his nerves."

"You have a hell of an insight into the Slytherin mindset."

"I've had a crash course recently," Harry said shortly.

"Erm. Sorry."

"Funny, the more I get to know them, the more I'm grateful I'm not one of them."

"Hear hear," Ron said fervently. He swirled his cocoa around for a minute, then hesitantly asked, "So how's it going with him, really?"

Harry sighed heavily.

"That good?"

"No, it's, it's all right, he's not nearly as big a git when you get to know him. Yeah, I know," he laughed at Ron's disbelieving expression. "It's just, it's..." He shrugged helplessly. "You know," he finally mumbled, concentrating very hard on the homey black and white pattern on the edge of the mug of cocoa.

"Yeah." Ron seemed to suddenly find his own mug fascinating as well. He swallowed a couple of times, started to speak and stopped, then took a deep breath and plunged in. "Harry... what happened when you fainted... was that because you wouldn't... you know. Um, go along with, with the spell?"

Harry scowled at his mug, his face darkening to mirror Ron's rather rosy tint. He cleared his throat. No, this was not a conversation he wanted to have with Ron, this was too personal, this was too embarrassing, this was-

This was Ron. They'd been friends for six years, been through hell and back, talked about everything under the sun including their mutual discovery of the female gender and their own feelings about them - how could he not be able to talk to Ron about anything?

"Erm. Partly." He cleared his throat again. "Yeah, that was a lot of it. We just got on each other's nerves, because... well, because."

There was a long pause, then Ron ventured, "Why wouldn't you?"

Harry gaped at him. "He's  _Malfoy_ , Ron. Would you want to sleep with him?"

Ron's face answered for him. "But, but isn't the bond supposed to, you know, make the other person seem attractive?"

"Yeah, it is. It does."

"Yeah? Weird. I couldn't even imagine that."

"I wish I couldn't," Harry said fervently.

"Must be so weird. Did you ever fancy any blokes before?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry sputtered, a little shocked at how casually Ron said that.

"So is it because of the Muggle thing about two boys or two girls together?"

Harry stared at him. "Is it really not that important in the wizarding world?"

"Depends who you talk to, I suppose. Some people do make fun, but a lot are Muggle-borns or half-bloods." Harry smiled briefly, reflecting that while most Slytherins only seemed to be able to say those words as insults, on the lips of a Weasley they were nothing but descriptive, with as much moral judgment as 'blond' or 'tall'. "A lot of purebloods really couldn't care less," Ron continued. "Fred wrote a paper about it once, for Muggle Studies."

"About what?"

"The difference. I don't really remember much of it, but I think there was something in there about how in the wizarding world, so many of us were persecuted for being wizards that we were sympathetic to other people who were persecuted. Oh, and... um, I think there was something in there about a lot of old wizarding practices involving sex, and some of that was with people of the same sex." Ron smiled. "I don't know how good his research was, though - I think he only picked the topic so he'd be able to put naughty words into a paper and say they were quotes."

Harry laughed. Ron grinned, then turned serious again. "It's not that big a deal, Harry."

"It is to me."

"Is that why-"

"I think it's more that he's Malfoy than that he's a boy, though."

"Yeah? He's not that bad-looking, for a bloke, you know." Harry choked on his cocoa and Ron, laughing, reached out to clap him on the back, stopping just in time. "He's not."

"Believe me, I know that now," Harry wheezed, half laughing.

"I thought the attraction thing wasn't working right now."

"It's not an on-off switch, I mean I don't want to, you know, do anything - agh." Harry shook his head and gave up trying to explain. "I know what he looks like. That's not the problem."

"So it's just him personally?"

"Yeah."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "You're going to have to, eventually, though."

"I know." Harry watched the patterns of cocoa moving in his mug. "I think... I think part of it is that... I don't, um... I don't want to get attached to him."

"Harry, you're bonded."

"I know, but... we're getting along better, and sometimes I think I can live with him, I think it's going to be OK, but then I remember - I mean, we both know where he's going. What his family's all about. I don't want to get attached."

"Ever talk about it with him?"

"God, no."

"Yeah, I guess that wouldn't be an easy conversation to start. The thing is though, Harry, where he's going and what's going to happen when - I mean,  _if_  You-Know-Who... that's all in the future. It might not even happen at all. What's going on with you two is happening right now. What's the use of worrying so much about the future that you let this stupid curse kill you right now?"

Great, thought Harry. Comforting though Ron was trying to be, Harry heard the unspoken assumption. That Harry was supposed to fight Voldemort for everybody, and defeat him again. And of course, he couldn't fight if he was dead.

Damn it, everybody, even Ron, kept putting this pressure on him. It showed up even in the strangest places, like in a conversation about whether he would or wouldn't consummate this damned bond with Malfoy.

"Could you sleep with him, if you had to?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ron answered after a moment's reflection.

"Really. Him? This is Malfoy we're talking about. Calls Hermione a Mudblood, wanted her dead by Basilisk when he was barely twelve years old. Makes fun of your family and you, all the time. Wrote an entire song about you just to make you look like a fool. And we won't even mention his family or his political views."

Ron's face was a little disgusted.

"My point exactly," Harry said.

"Yeah, but I'm not married to him." Harry looked away. "Look, maybe you need to talk to somebody-"

"No," Harry said, suddenly fed up with the whole thing. "I'm talking to Lupin, I'm talking to Pomfrey, I'm even talking to you - next thing Hermione's going to want to-"

"Harry, come on. Come on. I'm trying to be a friend."

"Then be a friend and drop it," Harry shot back.

"Fine," Ron bristled. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Ron closed his eyes for a moment, obviously reaching for patience. He cleared his throat again. "Erm."

Harry looked up.

"So, how about those Chudley Cannons?"

Harry's answering grin broke the tension and they suddenly found themselves laughing together loudly, forgetting their roommates.

"Shut up, you wankers!" Dean's irate groan was followed by a pillow hurled towards them with more strength than accuracy.

"Potter, would you like me to hex you?" Malfoy asked sleepily. "Because I will if you wake me up again."

"Hex Ron too while you're at it," mumbled Neville, turning over and putting a pillow over his head.

"Sorry," they apologized to the room at large as a soft snore came floating from Seamus' bed.

**ooooooo**

**Day 21, Monday**

Oh, oh no, please, thought Harry, abruptly realizing that he'd been staring at Malfoy for a while, admiring his swift, efficient movements as he went about perfecting his witchfire potion, utterly oblivious to the process and thinking instead that by the azure light of the witchflame, Malfoy's hair was an absolutely stunning shade of ice-blue.

No, he thought desperately, not again, not yet, I'm not ready yet - and his heart skipped a beat as Malfoy's eyes met his. Malfoy blinked, startled, and spilled the teaspoon of etchwater he was holding. He swore and quickly cleaned it up before it could eat through the counter, his hands just a touch unsteady. Then he paused, heaved a deep sigh of resignation, looked back up at Harry and leaned in closer.

"Potter," he touched Harry's hand. "Don't panic. It's not worth getting upset over this."

Harry swallowed hard, deeply upset that Malfoy could so accurately read his emotional state. "That's easy for you to say."

"No, it's not," Malfoy said evenly. "This isn't fun for me either. But you're panicking before anything's happened."

"I-I don't want to talk about this here-" Harry stammered, miserable already.

"No, of course not," Malfoy said, his voice steady and sympathetic. "We'll have lunch in the courtyard. We'll talk about it then. Potter, relax. It's not the end of the world."

Harry's instinctive retort died on his lips as he felt himself oddly calmed by Malfoy's voice and by the hand still resting on top of Harry's, thumb now rubbing the top of Harry's hand very lightly.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously, panic subsiding.

"Same thing you did at the hospital the other day, with my father." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I asked Pomfrey and read up on it. I don't need you skittish around me all the time, or afraid I'm going to ravish you in your sleep. I've got enough to deal with on my own."

Harry nodded. Of course, that made sense. He supposed he should feel a little resentful that Malfoy was manipulating his emotions for his own purposes, but then again... no, Malfoy was right. If projecting steadiness helped Harry, it was a good thing, regardless of whether Malfoy was doing it for selfish or altruistic purposes. He nodded and went back to his work.

**ooooooo**

They had seated themselves in the courtyard and Harry had almost finished his first sandwich before he finally blurted out, "All right, now what?"

"I don't want to go through what happened last time," Malfoy began.

"No, of course not."

"I talked to Madam Pomfrey about it, and she suggested some things we could try to make things go more smoothly this time."

"I'm not going to-"

"I'm not talking about spells or aphrodisiacs for you, or anything like that."

"I doubt we'll need that last," Harry said ruefully.

"No, not if last time is anything to judge by." Malfoy finished his first sandwich and bit into his apple. "Although I don't think it'll be much like before," he mused.

"Why not?"

"Things have changed."

"How?"

Malfoy studied his apple for a minute. He frowned, seeming to come to a realization, and a not entirely welcome one at that.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy gave a small start, as if he'd almost forgotten Harry was there, then, to Harry's puzzlement, coloured slightly and dipped his head down, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Malf-"

"We don't feel the same way about each other," he blurted out quickly, then bit into his apple.

"What?"

"You don't throw out disgust at me every five minutes or so. And I know how I feel."

"Really?" Harry said. "All right, how do you feel?" he challenged.

"I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you all that much." Malfoy tossed his half-eaten apple into the air and flicked his wand at it, making it disappear. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze firmly on his wand, rolling it between his fingers. "Potter, we're never going to like each other. But that doesn't mean we can't make this work. Just don't be afraid of me. Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen; it can't."

Harry frowned at him sceptically and Malfoy put a hand on his arm, a serious expression on his face. "Pomfrey said it'd be a good idea to set some ground rules before anything gets too intense. Like for example, maybe you should lead here. You let me know what you want and when you want it. I won't suggest anything."

"This... doesn't sound anything like you," Harry said after a long stunned moment. "Have you been taken over by somebody else?"

"No, just a patience potion."

"A what?"

"You don't want any kind of potion or spell or anything like that, for your own bizarre Muggle-raised reasons. I've no objection to them, myself, especially if it's a choice between that and ending up in the hospital again."

"What if they interfere with the bond spell?"

"I'll take the risk. I'm serious, I'm not going through what we just went through, not again."

Harry mulled that over, holding Malfoy's gaze, trying to see deception or impatience or anything other than an honest desire to get through this as easily as possible.

"All right," he finally said slowly. "I'll... I'll lead, for whatever that's worth. Just don't expect much."

"I don't."

"I still don't feel right about this."

"You're not the only one."

"I suppose not."

"One other thing: where do you want to sleep?"

"Not Slytherin," Harry began, and Malfoy grinned.

"No, I didn't think so. I wouldn't put it past my house mates to spare no effort to get past any locking or privacy spells on my bed. If only to figure out who collects on the pool money." Harry chuckled despite himself. "Zabini's especially eager to win; I think we cost him about ten Galleons already, he'd bet we'd be shagging the day we fainted in the Great Hall. He's placed a new bet but won't tell me for what day."

"Why not?"

"He thinks I've placed a bet myself."

Harry laughed out loud, unexpectedly. "And have you?"

"Well I wouldn't tell you, would I? That would blow my 'patience' ploy to hell."

Harry laughed again, noticing that his tension had subsided dramatically and marvelling that a mere potion could make Malfoy act like a decent human being. Maybe he should suggest that Malfoy continue to take the potion for as long as they were together.

"All right, not Slytherin, then," Malfoy said. "Do you want Gryffindor, or our quarters?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's up to you, I don't particularly care."

"All right..." Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know - I'm, I'm glad to be back in the dorm... but then, I don't want, I mean, if we're, you know, looking at each - um, I mean, it's, I-"

"Potter, you're babbling." Harry reddened and Malfoy snickered. "Look, you don't have to make any decisions right now. I just wanted to... I don't know, make sure you didn't get your knickers in a twist before anything's happened."

"All right," said Harry shakily. He bit into his second sandwich, and they ate in semi-companionable silence for a little while.

"So." Malfoy checked his watch. "Ten minutes till Charms class. Are you up for it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

**ooooooo**

**Day 23, Wednesday**

I may never stop taking this patience potion, thought Draco dazedly as he valiantly tried to ignore the sight and sounds of Potter dreaming about something... interesting.

Thank god the curtains are drawn, he thought. And thank god we're in Gryffindor and nobody's going to try to unspell them.

And I need more potion. Or something.

He turned his back to Potter, who, truth be told, wasn't acting in any way that somebody who wasn't bonded to him would be able to read as aroused. Unfortunately it was just Draco's luck that he happened to be able to interpret the flushed face, irregular breathing, right hand drifting along the covers grasping at nothing, and other slight... movements here and there as signs of Potter having an incredibly intense sexual dream.

Potter gasped softly and Draco felt his body answering despite the Arithmancy tables he was dutifully repeating in his head. If they'd been in their own quarters, Draco would've been off to the washroom and dealing with this tension long ago. Unfortunately they were in the dorm, and it was close to wake-up time and Seamus Finnigan had a bad habit of waking up abysmally early and Draco didn't particularly want to face anyone right now in the state he was in.

Potter sighed and turned onto his side, coming into contact with Draco's shoulder and pulling himself closer to Draco. Draco reflected that while this might happen to both of them often enough while they were both asleep, it felt quite different to have Potter draw close and put his arms around him while Draco was awake and Potter was... well, Potter was doing this.

No potion could help with this, thought Draco in a daze. He wanted, he needed, to turn around and draw close to Potter and move with him and let Potter's dream take them where it would. And the hell of it was, if he'd still been asleep, that's probably what would have happened. They would have both woken up somewhat sticky but with little or no memory of how they'd arrived there and possibly one more barrier down between them.

Actually... why couldn't he just do that? And pretend he'd been asleep?

Because Potter would sense his guilt.

_Guilt?_  Over what? Releasing sexual tension built up by a bond he didn't want and a spouse with bizarre Muggle hang-ups having a dirty dream right next to him in bed? How could taking care of that  _possibly_  make him feel guilty?

Because, knowing Potter, Potter would see that as taking advantage of him. Using Potter's body for sexual pleasure without his consent.

Bloody hell.

No, thought Draco as Potter's breath hitched and he groaned softly. There's got to be a limit. I said I wouldn't pressure him, not that I would just let him do whatever the hell he wanted no matter what it did to me.

He's seventeen, Draco's patience-potion-enhanced noble side said in a final attempt at forbearance. This won't last long. Just wait it out, don't make him feel self-conscious-

The hell with that - no, actually,  _fuck_  that - the rest of him told his noble side, I'm seventeen too. And I'm not putting up with this. He turned over and shook Potter awake.

"Wha?" Potter's eyes snapped open and he stared at Draco, utterly disoriented, still half asleep and all aroused.

"Potter, wake up," Draco said roughly. "You're having a wet dream and it's playing hell with my nerves."

Potter's eyes widened as he became aware of his surroundings. "Oh. Um... oh," he sighed, clearly still feeling the effects of his dream. He moved restlessly in the bed.

"Stop that!" Draco said sharply.

"You must be joking," Potter said weakly, turning onto his stomach and closing his eyes. "I can't just slam on the brakes," he whispered, "You've no idea how close-"

"I've a very good idea, I've been awake this whole time and if you don't want me to grab you you'll stop what you're-mph" Potter clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," Potter whispered fiercely, "I don't care what you do, take care of yourself for all I care, I can't - oh," he bit his lip, his other hand disappearing under the covers.

That was enough for Draco and he followed suit, and there were a few moments of muffled moans and rustling sheets before they were both gasping and then stillness settled over their bed.

Thank god, Draco thought vaguely, his chest still heaving, eyes closed and lethargy creeping over him.

Hopefully Potter wouldn't get weirded out by this.

Oh, who cared if he did.

Really, who cared.

Silence, broken only by their gradually slowing breaths.

Finally Potter cleared his throat, murmured the clean-up spell and sat up. Draco waited a beat, then did the same, sitting up and glancing at Potter curiously. Potter's face was flushed, no surprise, and he was steadfastly not meeting Draco's eyes, no surprise there either, and he was highly embarrassed. Draco ground his teeth in frustration - this was  _nothing_ , this was just two people getting off in the same bed, not even  _touching_  each other for god's sake - but obviously it had crossed some unfathomable Muggle moral line, as Draco had suspected it might.

He suddenly wondered how in hell people like Potter managed to exist in dormitories at all. This surely couldn't be the first time he'd ever had a sexual dream near another boy, and he sincerely doubted his roommates were all eunuchs either. Did they do Obliviate spells on themselves? Or was it the fact that Draco was in the same bed that was weirding him out? Or was it the fact that he'd probably been dreaming about Draco in the first place?

Draco blew out his breath in frustration and kicked off the covers violently.

"What?" Potter said, his voice rough.

"Nothing," Draco muttered, about to open the curtains. Potter shot up and grabbed his arm.

"You're angry at me."

"Bloody right - does everything have to get you this tense? Can't you just for once - oh, never mind!" Draco shoved him back.

"What? Can't I just for once what?" Potter said more loudly.

"You just - what just happened was nothing, and you're - I knew this would happen if I - fuck!" Draco realized he was completely incoherent in his frustration.

"It wasn't nothing," Potter snapped. "I, I was dreaming about, about - and then-" he collapsed back onto the bed, putting his face in his hands. "Never mind! You wouldn't understand!"

"Understand what? That you get upset by the stupidest - I can't even count the number of times I've heard one of my roommates have a wet dream or a good wank, it happens all the time, and yet you're acting like-"

"What?" Potter frowned, genuinely puzzled. They stared at each other for a moment. "You think I'm upset because we both just got off at the same time?"

Draco sat down, nonplussed. "Aren't you?"

"God no," Potter said. "I'm a virgin, not a monk, Malfoy."

"Then what's the matter?"

Potter looked away. "I was dreaming about you."

"Oh the horror," Draco said snidely. "Did you pay any attention at all to what Pomfrey told us the very first day?"

"No, it was, it was different."

"Different how?"

Potter shook his head, setting his jaw and Draco could feel just how completely unready Potter was to share what he'd been dreaming about. He opened his mouth for a scathing piece of ridicule - and closed it.

This might be a very, very good time to practice that patience thing, he realized.

All right, then. Never let it be said that a Malfoy feared to head into the unknown.

Although, come to think of it, Malfoys weren't terribly fearless, when you came down to it. Astute and cunning and calculating, yes, but they usually preferred to leave fearlessness to lesser, more expendable people - like, say, Gryffindors.

Unfortunately, here the Gryffindor in question was not actually expendable because Draco's own life and well-being pretty much depended on him for the time being, and the astute, cunning, and calculating thing to do happened to be practicing patience, which, also unfortunately, was unknown territory to Draco.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of confusion, ambivalence, anger, and post-orgasm fog, and attempted to compose himself. Well, compose himself as much as was possible after the morning wake-up he'd just had and surrounded by Gryffindors just outside the curtains. "All right, all right. Sorry I asked," he said, and had the distinct pleasure of seeing Potter completely stunned. He smiled, a little tiredly, and began again. "So you're not upset about what happened after I woke you up."

"No."

"You mean I could've - I didn't have to get out of bed, all those times? You wouldn't have been upset?"

"All those times? How many times?"

"Five, six, who knows."

Harry chuckled. "No, actually, come to think of it, I probably would've been upset... um... before."

"But you don't mind now?"

"No."

All right.

Where else to take this patience thing? Potter seemed relaxed, and they appeared to have weathered the possible storms of both the morning's activities and whatever it was that Potter had been dreaming about that had rattled him. And Potter didn't mind if Draco stayed in bed with him when they were both aroused. That was a step in the right direction.

And that was probably enough for today - or at least, for now. Draco mentally congratulated himself and tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was only six in the morning and he was already feeling rather exhausted.

This stupid, fucking curse.

"I'm going to take a shower." He stood up. "All right to take the privacy spell off?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

**ooooooo**

The morning had started relatively well, Draco reminded himself as he tried to figure out what was going wrong with his potion. He should have picked somebody else to work with, he realized, because working with Goyle was worse than trying to do this by himself. Normally it wasn't a problem; Potions was ridiculously simple, and all Draco asked of Goyle was that he follow instructions, do the menial labour, and stay out of the way. Except that on a day like today, when Draco was so distracted by Potter's presence that he was having trouble remembering his own name, Goyle's inability to think for himself was getting them into serious trouble.

He was fairly sure part of the problem was that he hadn't been specific enough when he told Goyle to crush the dragon eggshell, and Goyle had ground it into powder instead of merely crunching it. Draco had been too distracted trying to figure out how much blood he needed to use to notice what Goyle was doing until it was too late.

He gazed dejectedly at the thick blue mess congealing in his cauldron, a marked contrast to Potter and Granger's cauldron, which, of course, held a delicately bubbling liquid that glowed with the exact shade of aquamarine that Snape had described.

"You'll need to start over," Granger commented, looking into his cauldron.

"Piss off, Granger," he snapped.

"Malfoy, she just wants to help," said Potter.

"I don't need her help."

"I think you do," Potter peered down into his cauldron. Draco pushed him away impatiently.

"Malfoy."

The quiet tone startled Draco and he met Potter's eyes, then looked away. Bloody hell. He couldn't concentrate, he was supposed to be thinking of how to salvage this stupid potion and instead he couldn't even remember what it was supposed to be used for, and all he really wanted to do was go back to this morning except this time, actually touch Potter, pull him closer, run his hands over him-

"Fuck!" he blurted as Potter touched his arm, and he automatically covered Potter's hand with his, a mild shock running through him as he sensed Potter's trembling. He looked up at Potter, who was frowning slightly, his bright green eyes a little unfocussed, lips parted, and couldn't seem to make himself look away.

"Ahem." They both started as Granger politely cleared her throat. "I take it you're both distracted for a reason, then?"

Draco turned away from her angrily, shrugging off Potter's hand at the same time. Bad enough he had to go through this with Potter; the fact that Potter came attached to the Mudblood added insult to injury. It took considerable restraint for Draco to be civil to her in the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

"Harry?" he heard her say, and Potter made a small acknowledging sound. "Do you think it might be a good idea to stay out of class until you've... dealt with this?"

"Finish school next year, you mean?" Draco snapped. "No thanks."

"Many newly bonded couples stop working or at least cut down on their responsibilities until-"

"Yes, thank you for extensively researching what you would know without needing to ask if you'd been brought up in a wizarding family, Granger. Did you read that in 'The Muggle-born's Guide to Wizarding Customs' or 'How To Hide Your Mudbloodedness'?"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped.

"If she doesn't want to hear that kind of thing she doesn't need to stick her nose into my personal life!"

"She's trying to help, you-"

"I don't need her help!"

"Yeah, because you're doing so well on your own," Potter sneered at his congealing potion.

"Go to hell," Draco hissed.

"Already there, thanks."

"Shut up."

Potter growled in annoyance and Draco pointedly turned his back on him, motioning to Goyle to scrape the mess out of the cauldron while he tried to write out, coherently, what he thought had gone wrong and why. And tried with all his strength to ignore the blush heating his face and his churning anger and the fact that his entire body kept urging him to move closer to Potter.

He took a few calming breaths, shaking his head and trying to get into class mode. Read over what he had and was pleasantly surprised to see that, while not up to his normal standard, it was at least moderately coherent. He let the ink dry and rolled up the parchment.

Now, to start over. He looked over the ingredients again and groaned inwardly. So many of them were things that he really couldn't trust Goyle to get, because Goyle wouldn't know the difference between, say, epauleted bat talons and crested bat talons - he could barely tell the difference between bats and snakes. Unfortunately Draco himself wasn't too sure he could tell the difference either, at this point.

Motioning Goyle to follow him into the storage room, he resolutely ignored everything but the list of ingredients before him.

**ooooooo**

Draco reached the Slytherin table at the Great Hall and sank into his seat, bleakly wondering what else could go wrong with his day. After Potions and Transfigurations, all he really wanted to do was go back to bed and forget this whole miserable day.

On the plus side, in Transfigurations there were no belligerent Gryffindors staring daggers at him, the big bad Slytherin who caused their sainted little Harry distress. On the minus side, Transfigurations was filled with Slytherins. It seemed half of them didn't bother to think for half a second that if they pissed off Potter, Draco would get the backwash from it. The other half thought about it, and thought it was a splendid idea. Nott, Mordred rot him, had even managed to 'accidentally' bump into both of them during the class, with the resultant scorched-flesh effect that Draco could've sworn got worse every time. Not to mention the fact that the jolts of pain made them both shy away from everybody else and get closer than ever, which, considering what else they were both dealing with right now, was not a good thing at all.

And after lunch, he could look forward to Charms with the Gryffindors. Lovely.

"A little preoccupied today in Potions this morning, were we, Draco?" Millicent Bulstrode said casually as she seated herself across from him and Potter at the Great Hall.

Oh, wonderful.

They'd managed to be somewhat discreet about their growing attraction to one another this time, although there had been a few speculative looks on their Gryffindor roommates' faces after they had started drawing the curtains. But the lack of fighting and the patience potion and the fact that they were somewhat more comfortable with each other had all worked together so that although they'd been struggling with this for two days, they hadn't done anything obvious to start the rumour mill going - yet.

All good things must come to an end, though, thought Draco, noting his tablemates' whispers and glances, and steeled himself. Potter, thank god, had put a silence spell around himself as usual at the Slytherin table and was reading his Astronomy text while he ate, which was good because it meant that Draco wouldn't have to feel and deal with Potter's emotions too at some of the talk surrounding them.

"I heard about it in Astronomy. How did your second attempt at the potion go?" Millicent asked innocently, smirking as Draco flushed.

"Fine," he muttered into his pumpkin juice.

"Had a spot of trouble with the first one, I hear?"

"Yeah."

"A little... distracted, were you?"

Draco put down his fork and knife and stared at her levelly until her smirk faded and a slightly discomfited expression fell over her. He felt a small glow of reassurance that either he - or his family - still had the power to make other Slytherins balk at pissing them off too much.

All right, she seemed sufficiently nervous now. He held her gaze a few moments longer, considered a number of retorts, discarded all of them, and opted for subtle and risk-free: he went back to his meal and ignored her entirely.

"Draco." Pansy Parkinson dropped onto the bench next to him and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. "Much as it pains me to agree with anything Hermione Granger says, she just may be on to something here. Have you considered dropping out, just for a little while?"

"No," he said curtly.

"Draco-"

"I said no. I don't want to have to catch up later. Or worse, come back for another year in this pit of a school."

"But-"

"Your opinion is not required here, Parkinson," he said coldly, and she rolled her eyes and stood up.

"You're going to land yourselves in the hospital again, I swear," she said scornfully. "Honestly. Men. You're utterly impossible, the lot of you." She flounced off and Potter frowned after her.

"What's with her?" he asked, ending his silence spell.

"Thinks we should drop out," Draco said shortly.

"Never thought I'd see Pansy Parkinson agree with Hermione about anything."

"Now you've seen it. Go back to your bubble."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Potter said irately. "Off the patience potion?"

"Piss off."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Off the potion."

"No. But putting up with both you and your pathetic little friends," and my own pathetic house mates, he added to himself, "is a bit much for any potion to handle. It's not a miracle cure for other people's idiocy."

"Perhaps you should ask Snape to make you a potion to cure your tendency to act like a complete prick."

"Piss off, I said."

"Right, then." Potter stood up, and Draco grabbed his arm to pull him back down.

"I'm not done eating," he said through gritted teeth, and felt Potter's temper abruptly crack.

"You are now." Potter swept his arm over Draco's plate and sent Draco's lunch clattering onto the floor, the dish smashing amid cries of alarm from their Slytherin table mates. He started to move away and Draco jerked his arm back, unbalancing him slightly. "Let go of me!"

"What the hell was that? Sit down!"

"I said let GO!" Potter yanked his arm back and started out the door and Draco, furious, stood up to follow him.

"Get your miserable arse back to the table NOW!" He grabbed at Potter again but succeeded only in ripping his schoolbag off his shoulder. He hurled it to the floor, books and quills tumbling out, an ink bottle smashing to bits and spilling its contents out onto the floor.

"YOU don't order me around, you piece of shit!"

"SHUT UP!" he moved to grab Potter again and Potter swung around and shoved him back, hard, causing him to stumble back a few steps, barely catching himself against the wall.

"GO TO HELL!" Potter shouted at him, his hatred and resentment flaring up wildly, feeding the fury inside Draco, and there was a sudden hush as the air in the Great Hall became charged and somehow darker.

"What the hell are you doing?" Draco asked, his skin prickling from the charged atmosphere, a cold finger of fear running down his spine - damn it, he'd heard that Potter's temper tantrums had caused magical mayhem when he was a child, but how could this be happening now, in seventh year?

"I'm trying to get the fuck away from you!" Potter shot back, and Draco could feel Potter's own fear over what was starting to happen to his powers, which wasn't reassuring at all.

"Believe me, I would like nothing better-" Draco sensed a wind picking up in the Great Hall and gulped as Potter paled. "Get yourself under control, damn you! You're not a fucking child any more!"

"SHUT UP!" Potter shoved Draco back again and Draco, whose fear of Potter's temper was now warring with his own rapidly rising anger, shoved him back a lot harder than he meant to, smacking Potter's head against the wall behind him.

Potter's fury flared completely out of control and he punched Draco in the face, and Draco reeled back, tasting blood in his mouth. Potter aimed another punch at him and Draco blocked him as the wind picked up and a window shattered above them, and screams broke out from the students scrambling to get out of the way of the plummeting shards. Draco dimly heard somebody running to get a teacher.

"POTTER! STOP IT!"

Potter made another grab at him and Draco shoved him back again, then punched him solidly in the gut, kneeing him as he went down so that his knee smacked Potter's nose. Deep satisfaction bloomed in Draco along with the blood that started to pour from Potter's nose even as Draco felt the blow himself.

Draco had no idea he'd decided to pull out his wand until it was in his hand, at the same moment as Potter pulled out his own wand - and a sudden shouted "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" froze them both in place.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" another voice thundered through the Great Hall and both wands flew out of their hands.

The silence over the Hall was deafening.

Draco felt a pit open up in his stomach, unable even to close his eyes and not see Potter's face, so very pale, blood running down into his shirt, feeling blood trickle from the side of his own mouth and drip onto his collar.

Now they'd really done it. This was - this was terrible. They might very well be expelled. They had attacked one another physically and magically, destroyed school property and put several other students in danger. What would happen to them?

The morning had started out relatively well, Draco thought bleakly. How did it turn into almost hexing each other before noon?

"Finite incantatum. Now, unless you wish to be expelled immediately, follow me quietly to my office," Dumbledore said, his gentle tone at odds with his stern words. Snape approached with their wands in hand, motioning them towards the door.

 


	5. October 21 - October 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Kyllikki for betaing!

**Day 23, Wednesday, continued**

 

"This is impossible. They are impossible," Snape could be heard saying, several hours later.

The merry band was together again, discussing their 'case', but this time Draco and Potter were not invited to the party. Legally of age or not, the rest of them had decided they were too bond-addled to be trusted to make any decisions for themselves. Instead they'd had their wands confiscated, been patched up, and given calming potions. And now, here they were, cooling their heels in a small sitting room outside Dumbledore's office while the discussion went on inside, Draco on a sofa and Potter pacing the room restlessly, both trying to ignore the portraits moving from frame to frame whispering about them.

"Malfoy," Potter said hesitantly, breaking the silence in the room. Draco looked up. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Brilliant powers of observation, Potter," Draco replied tiredly. "What was your first hint?" He flicked his eyes at the blood still staining Potter's white shirt, knowing his own was blood-spattered too. Pomfrey had been too disgusted with them to give them time to change or clean up after healing their injuries.

"What-" Potter stopped, cleared his throat. "What do you think they'll decide?"

"No clue."

"I... I have a feeling I won't like it."

"I doubt I will either," Draco said. "I'm not sure they can decide anything, though. We are both adults."

"They may not be able to force us to do anything, but they can make things difficult for us if we don't obey. We could be expelled. Or disowned or something, in your case."

"My father wouldn't disown me."

"Really? What would he do instead?"

Draco frowned.

"Malfoy... what could he do to you, that makes you so afraid of him?" Potter asked hesitantly.

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Bollocks," Potter replied bluntly. "You are. You're not all that concerned about what Dumbledore or anybody else at school might do, but you're terrified of the fact that your father is in there with them."

"Does the bond now include Legilimency for you? No? Then don't presume to tell me how I'm feeling and why."

"I don't need Legilimency. I know how you feel, and it's the same way you felt that day in the hospital when you contradicted him in public. You nearly had a heart attack."

"We'd just been through a lot of stress-"

"Nothing to do with it. You were afraid of him." Potter's gaze was direct and uncompromising.

Draco bit his lip. Yes, he'd realized years ago that his feelings for his father, his respect and admiration and love, were also tinged with an unhealthy amount of fear. He'd noticed that none of his friends seemed to feel that same bone-deep terror of their fathers that Draco felt for his. Maybe their fathers didn't regularly threaten them with expulsion from the family, or remind them that not living up to their family's expectations would result in a life of misery, or viciously hex them as part of a 'disciplined upbringing'.

Yes, he bloody well was afraid of his father, and had good reason to be. But there was no way he would admit anything like that to Potter, of all people.

On the other hand, it was stupid to pretend there was no basis to what Potter was saying. Because he was right; Lucius' presence in that office was terrifying him right now. He didn't have any idea what his father would do to him, because he'd long ago given up imagining for himself what Lucius could come up with. His worst fears sometimes paled next to the real thing.

He swallowed. "Do you have a point, Potter?"

"I don't want to just do whatever they say."

"Neither do I. We don't exactly have a choice, though, do we?"

Potter took a deep breath. "We're not handling this terribly well."

"Once again, your powers of detecting the thoroughly obvious-"

"Shut up. We're under pressure from everybody and from ourselves, and even though you're taking a patience potion, it's not enough to cope with how you feel about me or my friends, and your school work on top of that."

"Thank you, Potter. I never would have reached those conclusions on my own-"

"And I can't handle how I feel about you, I hate the way you treat me and my friends and how fucked up your entire worldview is, and I'm sick of being on display for everyone at school to talk about, and..." Potter swallowed hard and plunged on, "And, and I'm fucking terrified of letting you get close to me, or letting myself get close to you."

Draco's mouth dropped open. There was a long silence as he digested the fact that Potter had just said what he had said.

Finally he cleared his throat. "All right," he said slowly. "I take it you do have a point, then? What is it?"

"We need to work things out, between the two of us."

"We've tried."

"No, we haven't. We've been existing next to each other and trying to muddle through and accepting advice every so often from other people. We haven't talked much at all."

"We did this morning."

"Did a pretty good job of it, too."

Draco smiled, not aware he was doing so until Potter gave him a small smile in return. "Yeah, we did."

"So it is possible. For us to work things out, I mean."

"I suppose so."

"So let's try. Do you want to drop out of classes?"

"No." He paused. All right, if Potter was going to lay his cards on the table, he supposed he should do the same. It went against every Slytherin instinct he had, but... the alternative might not be terribly attractive, depending on what came out of Dumbledore's office. "I don't. But we're not getting any useful learning right now. I can barely concentrate long enough to write my name on a piece of parchment."

Potter smiled ruefully. "I know the feeling. I keep feeling like I have to fight to clear my head all the time, because if I don't-" he broke off and blushed. "Well, you can probably guess what I end up thinking about."

"Probably," Draco said dryly.

Potter drew in a deep breath. He moved closer to Draco. "How I feel - how we both feel - it's so bloody wrong."

"Why? It's just sexual attraction. Don't tell me you've never felt that before."

"Not this badly."

Draco swallowed hard. "Why is that so wrong?"

"Because I don't want to feel this. We don't love each other. We don't even like each other. I don't want to-"

God not this again. "Potter, we're seventeen. Love and like don't have to enter the equation when it comes to sex."

"I'm scared."

"Of what?" Draco asked, knowing there was something just plain  _wrong_  about hearing that and not using it against Potter immediately, but Father was in the other room and god only knew what was being discussed in there. He and Potter had to work together, and they had to do it now.

"Getting hurt."

"You're getting hurt right now," he gestured at Potter's bloodstained shirt. "I almost hexed you into next year a few hours ago. We weren't going to do anything like a Giggle Spell or turn each other green; we were both going to do serious damage. You're miserable, and so am I. How could having sex be worse than all of this?"

Potter shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

Draco nodded. "Out of curiosity, what do you think they're going to decide in there?"

"To give me some potion or something to - to make me not fight this any more," Potter blushed, turning away.

"Potter..." Draco stood and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why would that be the end of the world?"

"Because, because then I wouldn't have any control over anything-"

"You don't have much control now-"

"I don't  _want_  to-" Potter tried to wrench himself away but Draco held on, keeping his touch as gentle as he could while still maintaining contact.

"They may not, you know." Potter crossed his arms tightly and Draco realized he was shivering. "Potter. You're panicking again." He projected calm and was rewarded by the feeling of Potter's fear slowly subsiding.

Then Potter put a hand over Draco's, and their eyes met, and all of a sudden it wasn't just about nerves or fear or anger. Their emotions were still raw and volatile despite the calming potions, their hands touching, and the ever-present attraction came rushing back to the forefront. And Draco wanted nothing more than to draw closer - and then Potter was actually doing so, and there was so little space between them but Potter was nervous and Draco didn't want to spook him by breaking his promise to not push him and then Potter had shifted just a little closer, close enough for Draco to feel his breath as they both looked down at their clasped hands and then there was no space between them, their bodies were touching and their foreheads coming to rest against each other and Draco gasped before he could stop himself.

Oh, Merlin... it was ridiculous, they were in the Headmaster's sitting room, and they were supposed to be talking about what to do, and instead he was stunningly aroused and he could tell Potter was too, and then Potter's other hand was coming up and touching Draco's shoulder and then traveling up to his neck, his cheek, and he was closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, and his knees were feeling weak and it was incredible.

He drew his arms down Potter's back, bringing them closer together, and Potter was trembling, and Draco was trying to regain control over his breathing, but that seemed just about impossible. His chest felt tight and small tremors were moving through his whole body, and he felt Potter's breath hitch like it had this morning when he was dreaming and he looked up and met Potter's eyes again.

"Oh god," Potter said very quietly, one hand still cupping Draco's cheek and the other now nestling into his hair. Their gaze was getting uncomfortable, but Draco had no idea where to take them next. Had Potter been a girl, there would have been no question, a kiss would have been the logical next step, but with another boy... and one he didn't actually like... and one who he wasn't sure wanted that kind of thing... what should they do?

They probably looked like a right pair of idiots, Draco thought, both turned on but having no clue what to do with their feelings. Potter stepped closer and now they were pressed together, and it was a little too intense, he could feel Potter's erection and knew the other boy could feel his and it was just... he moved back a bit and Potter chuckled quietly.

"Don't know quite what to do now, do you?"

"Er... no."

"And I thought I was the inexperienced one," Potter drew his hand over Draco's cheek and Draco sighed, Oh, that felt really, really good, and he moved his hands along the long, smooth muscles of Potter's back, coming to rest on his hips, and felt, somehow, Potter's heart rate speeding up.

He moved closer again, reflecting in the small part of his brain that could still form coherent thought that the bond spell wasn't all bad after all. A spell that could turn standing close to another person and running your hands over their fully clothed body while they did the same to you into something this intensely pleasurable had some merit to it after all. No wonder people used the spell even if they were already in love.

One of Potter's hands was still cupping his cheek and the other was now gently caressing the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes and dropped his head back and sighed.

"That's OK?" Potter asked quietly, and Draco shivered a little as Potter's breath tickled the side of his neck. He nodded, trying to steady his breathing and failing utterly, his pulse racing just like Potter's.

He lifted his hand to Potter's face, to his cheek, and Potter leaned into his touch and pressed his mouth into Draco's palm and a jolt of pleasure seared through him. He pulled away automatically and then Potter started to pull away too, but Draco murmured, "No, don't stop, that was - um, don't stop-", and then he was leaning closer and he could feel Potter's breath on his cheek, and suddenly he didn't care whether this was the done thing or not, he wanted to - but... oh, hell...

Their lips were so close. Surely if Potter didn't want to, he would move away? He moved forward tentatively, and Potter's breath drew in sharply but he didn't back away. And then suddenly Potter had covered the last of the distance between them, and their lips were touching. And it didn't matter worth a damn what was the done thing, because Potter's lips were so soft and this wasn't so different from anybody else Draco had kissed after all, it was sensual and arousing and exciting except just a tad more so because he'd been on edge and wanting this so intensely for what seemed like forever, and he heard a small sound of delight coming from one of them, and it didn't matter which one-

"Oh," that was definitely Potter who'd spoken, a soft sound uttered into the space between them. Draco tilted his head to the side a little, and Potter parted his lips and they tentatively touched tongues and oh, this really wasn't that different from kissing a girl - except that the girls Draco had kissed had never pulled him close with a strength that matched his own, and the sound Potter made in his throat was much lower and the awareness Draco felt for him was different - although whether that was due to Potter's gender or the bond spell was impossible to tell and really not that relevant anyway.

The fact that he was starting to feel light-headed was relevant, though. Light-headed and anxious to not have this interrupted by a stream of people pouring out of Dumbledore's office. It made him both want to speed this up so that they could... whatever... before that happened, and slow them down so they wouldn't be interrupted at an even more inopportune moment.

But god, the heat and the excitement of their lips caressing and their tongues touching, less tentative now, more confident, more demanding... no, he couldn't end this...

"Um," Potter broke away for a moment, "we should, we should probably-" and he kissed Draco again, a soft moan escaping him, and Draco didn't know or care what he'd been about to say. Except, Potter had probably thought-

"Yeah, we should," Draco drew away long enough to whisper. "We should - um," he kissed Potter again, "we need to st-" and Potter stopped his words with another kiss - and this wasn't going so well, it was like telling a starving man to stop eating after two mouthfuls, it just wasn't going to happen.

"No, no, we have to-" Potter drew away, gasping, and put one hand flat on Draco's chest, pushing him back just a little, and Draco would have felt rejected and angry but it was hard to feel that way when Potter's other arm was wrapped around his waist and his chest was heaving and he was still making small movements against Draco, now settling his forehead onto Draco's shoulder and muttering, "God, I'd no idea stopping would be this um, hard," and then Draco was chuckling and Potter was joining in.

"Um, yeah. That part's never fun."

"Oh, good," they both jumped at the voice that came from the doorway across the room, and Healer Esposito chuckled. "I thought you were never going to come up for air."

They started to move apart, then Potter tightened his grip on Draco and they stood still as the Healer closed the door behind her and approached them.

"I thought you might like to know what's going on – or rather, what  _was_  going on in there," she said, seating herself comfortably in one of the armchairs. "The general consensus was, of course, that this was not working and you two needed intervention, but there the consensus appeared to end. One camp felt that the best course of action was some fairly potent potions for you, Mr. Potter," Potter breathed in sharply and Draco automatically rubbed his back to soothe him, "and the other seemed to feel that something in the order of a complete personality change was in order for you, Mr. Malfoy. There were varying degrees of support for suspending you both from school indefinitely and sending you directly to me at St. Mungo's. Your father, you may be interested to know, Mr. Malfoy, declared himself ready to back this up with 'incentives' for you if you did not agree with that particular course of action."

Draco suppressed a shudder, wondering if his father had actually stated out loud what he meant by that, and deliberately avoided Potter's curious glance.

"Well." The Healer smiled brightly. "That's about it, in a nutshell, not that it matters anyway but I thought you'd like to know."

"Why - er, why doesn't it matter?" Potter's voice was husky and a little shaken, and the Healer smiled at him reassuringly.

"Because when I sensed what was going on in here, I pretty much put my foot down and declared a moratorium on any outside suggestions."

"You sensed-" "Moratorium - how?" they spoke together, and Esposito motioned them to sit.

"I sensed because I'm a Bonding Spells Specialist and I'm trained to detect signs of improvement in my patients from a reasonable distance away. Not that I think I needed that particular training - probably half the school felt what was going on in here."

"What?"

"Oh for heaven's sake relax, Mr. Potter, I'm exaggerating. I sensed it, as did Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. And, for some reason, Professor Snape." Draco noted with amusement that Potter blanched a little at that. "Any spell activating that strongly was bound to send off a few sparks, but rest assured you do not need to worry about the entire school being aware of your romantic activities. In any case. The moratorium: I make it a practice to never interfere with a couple's attempts to salvage their bond, if those attempts are genuine."

"What - what attempts?"

"Obviously I don't know exactly what led up to this-" she waved an amused hand at them and Draco felt himself blushing slightly, "But I assume it was preceded by some kind of discussion between the two of you, basically agreeing that you want to try to make this work - together?" Draco and Potter nodded, bemused. "There you go. That's no guarantee of anything, but it is a move in the right direction and I much prefer to allow such attempts some room to succeed rather than take over completely. Your father," she nodded at Draco, "was none too pleased about this and threatened to demand St. Mungo's suspend my Healer's licence. But the fact is, I'm the Healer of record here and he will abide by my recommendation whether he wants to or not. And my recommendation is that you should be allowed time to yourselves, to continue what you started here, as long as you are genuinely committed to taking that time and using it wisely."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked cautiously.

"Get to know one another, gentlemen. Stop all classes until at least next Monday and bloody well get to know one another as spouses, or even as human beings, instead of schoolyard rivals. We all suggested this at the beginning, but of course we didn't know anything back then, did we? And of course you two knew it all." She snorted in amusement.

"But-"

"Tut, Mr. Potter. Stay in your rooms or go somewhere off school grounds altogether. Ask one another about your lives and childhoods, learn each others' favourite foods, favourite Quidditch teams - talk about Quidditch and how you feel about not playing any more, if that'll help. And get comfortable with each other sexually. Do nothing but that for a few days."

"We'll kill each other," Draco said flatly.

"You won't. You've proven you can co-exist despite your history of enmity, despite your different personalities, despite the stress of the situation you're in. You've proven you can get along, as long as you've got support and you aren't too stressed - you did it for six days after you were released from the hospital."

"We hit each other. We almost hexed each other," Potter pointed out.

"It was only the sexual tension from the bond, combined with the pressure of school, that caused this latest crisis."

"How can you be sure?"

She shrugged. "I can't be 100 percent sure. I can just give my considered opinion, based on watching bonded couples of every conceivable personality combination work out their problems for twenty-five years. Although I did hear some fairly disturbing evidence that neither one of you is particularly good at controlling your tempers. And apparently this kind of thing with your magic getting out of hand has happened a few times before, hasn't it, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes."

"But not for years. I believe that today the fact that your tempers were feeding into each other is what caused it to be so... spectacular."

"So how is leaving us to fight it out alone going to-"

"Oh, no no no, you're not going to fight out anything. And you won't really be alone; I will be monitoring you frequently, and I'm giving you each a portkey to St. Mungo's, which you will carry at all times and activate the moment you feel even slightly unsafe in each other's company."

"But I thought the whole point of going back to the dorms was so we wouldn't be isolated-"

"And I stand by that. You'll go back there after you come back from this getting-to-know-you exercise. Nobody will make you live in isolation for the rest of the year. This is only four days together, free of school and social pressures, and you've shown you can do it."

Draco and Potter stared at her.

"Any questions?" She smiled at their blank faces. "Right, then. Let's get you back to your quarters."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry about anybody else in that office, Mr. Malfoy. Just follow me. Healer's orders."

 

 

**ooooooo**

 

"Erm, about the beds..." Potter said nervously that night as they entered their bedroom.

"Yeah, about the beds." Draco crossed his arms and they stood, facing the beds that were just as they'd left them, right next to each other. Potter swallowed hard and Draco pushed down his impatience.

The Healer had finally left them around dinner time, leaving behind their clothing, school materials, a list of suggestions on how to pass the time, and reassurances. They'd spent the evening organizing their quarters again, eating dinner, studying a bit, and had even managed to push past their embarrassment enough to look at the list of suggestions and cover two items they'd chosen as non-controversial, easy beginnings.

"I don't think I'm up to 'discuss your future together' or 'describe your worst fear,' thanks," Potter had said dryly, and Draco had to laugh, because somehow he  _knewf_  they were both thinking, 'especially as they're both the same thing'. "How about 'tell each other what your favourite class is and why' and 'describe a happy day in your past'?"

"Fair enough," he'd said, and they'd both done their best to take the assignment seriously. With Potter facing the spectre of forced mood-altering potions and Draco facing god only knew what from his father, the idea of opening up about favourite classes and happy days seemed ridiculously easy.

They'd gotten past the awkwardness of what had happened earlier in the day - all of it. The morning's activities, the fight, the almost-hexing, and the conference of concerned adults. But they hadn't yet really faced what being here together meant.

"Are you nervous?" Draco now asked bluntly.

Potter shrugged self-consciously. "Yeah, a bit."

"I won't-"

"I'm not afraid of what you'll do. I'm - um, I, I-" he stopped and steadied himself. "Look, I'm having dreams a lot. And I don't want to wake up to find that during the night-"

"That you've come a little too close for comfort?"

Potter nodded.

"What if you have? Why is that so awful?"

"I'm not ready."

"And you never will be, if you don't loosen up a little," muttered Draco. He took a deep breath. "Look, it's your call. Push them apart or leave them as they are or turn them into one bed, I don't care. I'm going to get ready for bed." He turned and went into the washroom, reminding himself that they had to, had to, had to work together. And that insulting or hurting or embarrassing Potter was simply not on the menu of acceptable behaviour any more.

And that if he ever found out who in hell cursed them, he would use at least two of the three Unforgivables and do his very best to invent a fourth.

He emerged, patience potion downed and teeth brushed, and didn't make a single comment as Potter went past him into the washroom and he saw that the two beds had been transformed into one. Just stripped down to underthings and got in, realizing as his head hit the pillow that he was truly and utterly exhausted.

He closed his eyes and barely heard Potter come back into the room, managing only to murmur "G'night" before he slipped off to sleep.

**ooooooo**

**Day 24, Thursday**

Harry yawned and slowly stretched, looked over at the clock lazily, then sat up so fast his head spun.

"Shit! Transfigurations!" he gulped, whipping around at an unexpected sound - laughter.

"Potter." Malfoy was sitting back against the headboard, still wearing the same t-shirt and pants he'd gone to bed in, a book on his lap, laughing at him. "We're 'voluntarily suspended', remember?" Harry gaped at him and Malfoy waved at the night table on Harry's side of the bed. "The house elves brought you breakfast. Relax and enjoy it."

Harry dropped back onto the bed, relief washing over him. God, the only thing worse than arriving late for McGonagall's class was arriving late for Snape's. He lay there until the dizzy feeling subsided, then sat up to inspect his breakfast tray, which seemed brimming with all his favourite breakfast foods.

"Dobby," he said fondly, and Malfoy looked up from his book.

"Dobby?"

"House elf. He likes me."

"We had a house elf named - oh. Right."

"Yeah."

"That explains why my toast was soggy and my pumpkin juice was warm."

Harry choked on his juice and tried to cover it, but Malfoy didn't look angry - in fact, he looked amused.

"Potter, I was joking. No house elf would knowingly put bad food on a tray, no matter who was eating it. My toast was fine." He went back to his book.

"What are you reading?"

"Potions."

"Aren't we supposed to be off school?"

"Out of classes, not out of school. Besides, this isn't our textbook."

"You read Potions extra-curricularly?"

"How quickly you forget. Remember a long discussion of Favourite School Subject and Why, Potter? Last night?"

"I know, I just didn't know you liked it that much."

"I do. Besides, it's certainly a more pleasant way to start the day than reading the Prophet."

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. "Oh, god. What d'you suppose they'll say about yesterday?"

"I have absolutely no desire to find out, though I'm sure Pansy will cut out every article and try to show them to me when we come back. I'll have to figure out how to charm her memory so she thinks she's shown them to me already."

Harry sighed. "When you figure out how, teach me. Dean Thomas does the same thing to me."

"Merlin, why would anybody want to read tripe like that about themselves?" Malfoy shook his head and turned a page.

Harry considered a number of responses to that, and finally decided that instead of beginning the day with a fight about how Malfoy had always assumed that Harry liked reading tripe like that about himself, he would simply not respond. He would go to the washroom instead.

Getting away whenever Malfoy pissed him off might be a very good strategy, he told himself as he washed shaving potion off his face a few minutes later. They had four days to work together to build something that wouldn't fall apart at the first sign of pressure. A fight would be an inauspicious beginning, to say the least. Malfoy seemed to be trying to not be overly obnoxious; the least Harry could do was to not get riled up about Malfoy being completely unaware of how obnoxious he'd been in the past.

Harry finished and returned to the bedroom, feeling much less pissed off, but hungry. He grabbed the breakfast tray, sat down cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and attacked his breakfast with enthusiasm, glancing over at Malfoy.

Malfoy looked relaxed and far more at ease than Harry normally saw him. His light grey t-shirt was dusted with a few crumbs, book propped up against his knees, attention focussed on the book, one finger absently worrying a lock of his hair. He didn't look like the enemy. He looked like a normal teenage boy, far removed from anything more sinister than school pranks.

Was this what Harry was so afraid of?

Then Malfoy looked up and Harry felt his toast stick to the back of his throat. "What?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing. I was just wondering - I hope nobody's worried about us," Harry said quickly.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm sure Snape and McGonagall explained everything to our housemates. They'll know we didn't kill each other or get expelled."

"A little too close, though."

"To which?"

"Either. Both."

"Yeah," Malfoy marked his place, flipped his book shut and put it away carefully before turning back to Harry.

Silence.

"So." Malfoy paused. "What now?"

"Um... I, I don't know, do you - um, should we look at the list-"

"Sod the list for a minute," Malfoy said. Harry swallowed nervously, wishing they could just grab the list and pick a random topic because he wasn't sure he wanted to do whatever Malfoy had in mind. "I want to apologize," Malfoy said bluntly.

It took Harry a moment to process that. "What?"

"I want to apologize, for yesterday. I was pissed off and I took it out on you. And the Mud- er, and Granger."

"Oh."

Silence.

"This is where you either say 'Apology accepted' or 'Up yours', Potter."

"Oh. Right - apology accepted."

Malfoy grinned. "That wasn't quite as painful as I expected it to be," he commented.

"Heh, yeah," Harry said uncomfortably.

Malfoy frowned. "Potter?" Harry gulped. "Oh, god," Malfoy muttered, then sat up, coming into Harry's personal space. Harry shifted backwards automatically, and Malfoy rolled his eyes but sat back against the headboard, spreading his hands. "Look, I'm not touching you, I'm not in your space. Can you relax?"

Harry nodded, feeling foolish as only Malfoy could make him feel. He took a sip of his cocoa, getting rid of the dryness of the toast. He set his cup back on the tray, noting that his hands were shaking slightly and wanting to roll his eyes at himself. Malfoy was right, this was stupid.

In fact, this was beyond stupid. He put his breakfast tray back on the night table, took a deep breath and met Malfoy's eyes, noting the barely contained annoyance that shifted suddenly into surprise as he moved closer.

"What-"

"We're supposed to get 'comfortable' with each other," Harry said, "whatever that means. And, and you said you wanted me to lead here. So... I'm leading."

Malfoy looked rather thoroughly thrown off, and Harry started to smile despite his own discomfort at the situation. "Don't tell me you're nervous now," he chuckled.

"Me? No. Well. Yes. A bit." Malfoy started to look a little irate as Harry's chuckle widened into a laugh. "Stop that."

"You should see yourself," Harry grinned. Malfoy looked down at himself, noticing that he'd gone from a relaxed pose, leaning against the headboard with knees updrawn and arms loosely clasped around them, to almost hugging his knees against his chest and radiating defensiveness. He rolled his eyes, unfolding himself and mirroring Harry's cross-legged posture, visibly forcing himself to relax.

"Better?" he asked sarcastically.

"Why are you nervous? You're the one with all the experience and no 'Muggle hang-ups'."

"Yeah, well..." Malfoy was looking away now, a blush heating his face. Harry opened his mouth to make another snide remark and then closed it.

This was very new territory to both of them, he reminded himself. And if he needled Malfoy too much, Malfoy would very probably snap and turn sarcastic and sneering again, and that wouldn't help either of them.

He bit his lip, not knowing where to go from here, then decided to just go with his gut. Shifted forward so that their knees were touching, and reached out for Malfoy's hand. Malfoy drew in his breath sharply, but took Harry's hand in his.

"What are you nervous about?" Harry asked quietly.

"I... I don't know." Malfoy took a deep breath. "Scaring you off. Screwing this up." He swallowed. "Fighting with you again."

"I don't want to fight either."

"We always seem to end up there, though."

"Not right now," Harry pointed out.

"No."

Harry laced their fingers together and rubbed the top of Malfoy's hand with his thumb, reflecting that though they'd done this a couple of times, this was the first time they were actually able to do it without fear of interruption. He looked up to find that Malfoy's eyes had closed and Malfoy was breathing very deeply.

"Malfoy?"

"I didn't... I didn't think the bond spell would make such a difference. I thought Pomfrey was exaggerating."

"About what?"

He opened his eyes. "She said there was more sensitivity under the spell. That, that senses and emotions were heightened, that kind of thing. I... I guess it's true."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, don't you - oh. No, you wouldn't know."

"Er, no."

"It's heightened. Trust me." Malfoy took another deep breath. "It's a little too... intense. Sometimes."

"It's not just me, then? That thinks so?"

"No."

Harry gently let go of Malfoy's hand and touched Malfoy's knee, then ran his fingers lightly over his lower thigh and back to his knee. He leaned a bit closer, peering at his leg, and chuckled.

"What?"

"I can feel it, but I can't see it. Your leg hair - it's almost transparent."

Malfoy smiled a little, amused. "We've been sleeping in the same room for weeks, you never noticed that?"

"I suppose I wasn't looking."

"You'd never make it as a spy, Potter."

"I hope I never have to," Harry responded lightly, but the temperature in the room seemed to dip down a few degrees regardless and they both looked away from each other, slightly uncomfortable. Dangerous territory, this.

Then Malfoy cleared his throat and shook his head, apparently determined to not let them go down that particular conversational path. He ran his fingers across Harry's knee, mirroring Harry's actions. "You're so much darker than I am," he observed. "Nobody would ever call you part-Veela."

"You've been called part-Veela?"

"Drives my father insane, that. Nobody says it seriously, and our pedigree's documented back about twenty generations, but it's still a good way to get a rise out of him."

"Why? Fleur Delacour was; it didn't seem to bother her."

"Fleur Delacour is not a Malfoy. We pride ourselves on being purebloods. Pure blood doesn't include non-human blood."

"Would it be better or worse than having Muggle blood?"

"For Father, who knows. He's never been accused of being part-Muggle. But I overheard one of his friends tell a story once about how when he was at school another boy started a rumour about him being part-Veela. Father cursed him with runaway hirsutism and severe goat-like body odour." Harry burst out laughing. "Almost got away with it too, but a teacher found out and he got detentions for two weeks."

"I find it impossible to imagine your father in detention," Harry chuckled.

Malfoy suddenly scowled and withdrew, hugging his knees to his chest again. "I don't," he said curtly. Harry blinked, confused, then mentally replayed his own words and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh - oh, shit, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. Shit!"

Malfoy looked away, lips pressed together tightly.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." He sat back, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, what a way to kill the mood," he said ruefully.

Malfoy's gave a startled laugh, then sobered again. He shrugged. "Yeah, well. Apology accepted," he said grudgingly.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Um, what do you want to do now?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and started to get off the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find the bloody list," Harry muttered.

"Sod the list. I don't feel like talking."

"There's not just talking on the list."

"We just tried that. As you pointed out, the mood is effectively dead."

"Maybe we should talk about that then."

"Maybe absolutely not," Malfoy shot back immediately. "Would you like us to have a cozy little chat about my father's time in Azkaban? Maybe discuss the finer points of what exactly you had to do with it, who was in the right, what does it all mean - do you  _want_  to get to where we're about to kill each other again?"

"No. But we can't ignore it forever."

"We bloody well can."

"Not if it makes you this angry-"

"Don't analyse my feelings, Potter! You can't tell everything going on inside me just because of the damned bond!"

"Really?" Harry shot back defiantly. "You're angry just thinking about it. You're ashamed that your father was imprisoned like a common criminal. You're scared to talk about it and face it. You're angry at me for bringing it up, and at yourself - probably because I  _didn't_  bring it up, you just heard it from something I said that had nothing to do with Azkaban. And I'll bet that's not the first time an innocent remark's gone a little too close to home for you. You're confused and you wish you could just run away from it."

Malfoy was gaping at him. Harry sort of wanted to gape at himself; he'd had no idea he could read Malfoy's feelings that well, but there they were, and he knew he'd nailed most of them.

"Am I close?"

Malfoy scowled at him.

"And now you're annoyed because I'm dead-on. You're disturbed that you're that easy to read by anybody, even me. Or maybe especially me." Malfoy looked away. Harry sighed, his brief anger dying down. "Malfoy... you're not that easy to read," he said tiredly. "It's just the spell. You could probably do the same thing to me if you tried for half a minute."

Malfoy looked at him speculatively. "All right, then." He closed his eyes, then started to speak slowly. "You're wondering if we'll ever be able to live together without setting each other off all the time. You can't decide whether you're more upset at me or at yourself. You're angry because... because you feel like apologizing for putting my father in prison. You're afraid we won't be able to work anything out and you'll be forced to - Merlin, Potter, you're bloody well obsessed with this 'lack of control over sex' issue." He opened his eyes and smirked at Harry. "Sex isn't even about control a lot of the time, you git. Most of the time it's the exact opposite."

"What?"

"It's not about thinking and deciding and following the right steps or anything. It's about letting go and feeling good."

"Feeling good? That's all there is to it? What about feeling something for the other person? Or caring how they feel?"

"There's no reason you can't do both. You - you're over-thinking this," Malfoy put a hand on Harry's knee and Harry almost flinched, but Malfoy leaned closer anyway, his smirk fading and a serious expression coming into his face. "It's not about thinking, it's about feeling."

Harry swallowed. "I, I know, but-"

"But you don't like the lack of control. You're not in control right now." He tilted his head to the side. "And... that scares you."

"You're not in control of your own feelings either - you're still angry over what I said about your father-"

"I don't want to talk about him," Malfoy said in a steely voice. "I'd very much like to forget all about him right now, if you don't mind. He's not here. We are."

Harry swallowed, his mouth going dry.

"You're still confused but you're also turned on. And you don't know what to do about it." Malfoy slowly ran his fingertips halfway up Harry's thigh, then back down. "Potter, at least this is something we  _can_  do something about. The rest - our families and our history and all of that - we'll never get anywhere on any of that."

Harry felt unwelcome emotions flooding back - desire, the need to be closer, to not have to talk - he stopped Malfoy's hand as it started moving up his leg again.

"Are you sure you want me to stop?" Malfoy asked quietly, and Harry realized that no, he didn't. He shook his head and Malfoy smiled and resumed his light touch moving up Harry's leg and Harry briefly congratulated himself for still being dressed in very loose clothing that hid his body's reaction to what Malfoy was doing. He slid his own hand up Malfoy's arm, to his neck, into his hair, then looked at Malfoy, whose hand had grown still upon Harry's knee and who was looking at him with guarded anticipation.

Harry swallowed, started to lean forward a bit, and Malfoy followed suit until they were just close enough, then he closed his eyes and touched their lips together. He could feel the lingering anger and frustration in Malfoy, mixed with desire and surprise, then Malfoy parted his lips and they were kissing deeply but slightly awkwardly, still sitting cross-legged. Then Malfoy came up to his knees and Harry uncrossed one leg and they were closer, this was better, this was much, much better, and Malfoy's hands came up to caress Harry's face and hair and bring him closer and then Malfoy was pulling Harry back so that they came to rest half-sitting against the headboard, free to explore each other comfortably.

And Harry's body was responding more and more eagerly to the lips and hands touching him. Frustration and anger were melting away, everything was melting away but the heady sensations, the possibilities. He shivered as Malfoy's lips left his and started to move towards his cheek, his ear, sparking little jolts of pleasure that made him gasp and unconsciously tighten his hold on Malfoy.

"Is that all right?" Malfoy murmured in between small movements of his lips on Harry's ear, and Harry nodded wordlessly. Then Malfoy was working his way down Harry's neck and pressing soft bites into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, and Harry was biting his lip to not cry out, but he could hear small whimpers escaping.

"I can't believe you've never done this before," Malfoy whispered, amused at his reactions, coming back to his mouth. "Didn't you ever wonder what you were missing?" he asked, then prevented Harry from answering by covering Harry's mouth with his own.

"Yeah, I did," Harry admitted as they came up for air. "I... I did." He moaned as Malfoy went back to his neck, then squirmed a bit, "That's, that's too much-" Malfoy backed off and they paused while Harry caught his breath and tried to ignore the fact that his pulse was racing faster than he thought it had ever gone before, and every nerve was tingling and he felt so, so alive...

He glanced at Malfoy to find him chewing on his lip, eyes half-closed, one hand grasping at the blankets. "Are you - are you all right?" he whispered, and Malfoy shook his head slightly.

"No, I'm - it's a bit too much for me too, I, I need - um, no, I-" Malfoy said breathlessly, and came back to Harry's mouth for a moment, then broke off again. Harry hesitantly moved his mouth to Malfoy's ear, trying to mimic what Malfoy had done, licking the hollow behind his ear and drawing back quickly as Malfoy cried out in surprise. Malfoy turned to him quickly, one hand winding into his hair, urgently whispering, "No, no don't stop, go back-"

And it was a pretty powerful sensation, such small actions getting such intense reactions. He tried to remember what Malfoy had done to him, how he'd kissed and licked his skin and where and how long - and then he wasn't trying to remember anything, he was just reacting to Malfoy's sounds and movements and what he could feel through their bond. Almost feeling what Malfoy was feeling, the spikes of sensation that drove small cries from his mouth, the burning need for more that finally had Malfoy biting his lip and squirming in frustration.

He pressed their upper bodies together, Malfoy's chest heaving against his, so incredibly warm through both of their t-shirts, the warmth in Harry's groin responding to the idea that if they lay down he'd feel Malfoy's erection against his own, and he needed to touch, he needed-

Although... on second thought, that was just a little farther than he was prepared to go. Even though last night they'd been that close, they'd had more clothing and more restraint then, being in Dumbledore's sitting room. This was just them, in thin sleepwear, in their own room, nothing to set any limits for them, and that was a little too far...

"Potter..." Malfoy finally murmured, "I think we're going to have to stop-" and he groaned as Harry left his neck and came back to his lips, "No, really," he was stopped by Harry's mouth on his, and he finally wrenched away long enough to say, a bit exasperated, "Potter, I'm going to come if you don't stop that  _now_."

Harry stopped. He withdrew slightly, gazing into Malfoy's eyes, dark with desire. He swallowed, thought for half a second, then slowly came closer. "So go ahead, I won't stop you," he said and resumed his exploration of Malfoy's neck and ear and mouth, running one hand down Malfoy's back, coming to rest on his hip, smiling at Malfoy's bitten-back curse and his heightened level of excitement. Dimly he could sense that Malfoy was somewhat thrown by all of this, but then Malfoy's rational mind seemed to flicker off completely and his entire consciousness was taken over by awareness of his own body and Harry's actions. Malfoy had thrown his head back and closed his eyes, was gripping Harry so hard it was a little painful, but seemed frustrated as he squirmed under Harry's attentions and Harry tried to figure out what it was he needed.

Oh. He took Malfoy's hand and pressed it to the front of Malfoy's pants in suggestion, and Malfoy quickly bore down on himself, once, twice, and then his back was arching off the bed and he cried out as he came, and Harry, to his surprise, followed a few seconds later without having touched himself at all.

They lay together breathlessly, and Harry felt an extreme lassitude taking over him. He rolled onto his back and Malfoy made a small noise in his throat, prompting Harry to throw an arm back over him, which made Malfoy chuckle. He roused himself long enough to murmur the sheet-cleaning spell, then lapsed into half-awake contentment once more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooo
> 
> Post-Author Notes:
> 
> General note 1: Chibitoaster made an illustration of the boys' first kiss at
> 
> www.chibitoaster.com/h-dkiss_2.jpg
> 
> And I made a drawing of another scene in at
> 
> i9.photobucket.com/albums/a71/AnnaFugazzi/BondCh5.jpg


	6. October 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great big thanks to Kyllikki for beta!

****  
Day 24, Thursday, continued** **

"We should probably get up," Malfoy said in a drowsy voice a long time later.

Harry mulled that over.

"Yeah, probably."

They listened to the rain for a little while, then Harry said, "I didn't know it was raining."

"Yeah, started a little while ago."

"Oh."

There was a long silence.

"Is it normal to be this tired afterwards?" Harry finally asked.

"Yeah, sometimes..." Malfoy yawned.

"Feel like I could sleep for a week."

"That's probably the spell," Malfoy said a long time later.

"Mm." Harry pondered that. "What for, though? That doesn't make sense..." he yawned. "The other stuff, pain from other people touching you, or needing to touch, that all makes sense to set up intimacy, but being this tired after you come... how would that help?"

"Who knows?" Malfoy asked, his voice sleepy and unconcerned. "Besides, we were cursed by an idiot, remember?"

"Right."

Harry lay there, listening to the rain and Malfoy's breathing, noting distantly that he'd never felt such an utter lack of hostility off of Malfoy during the whole time they'd been bonded.

"Right. Well. I'm not lying around all day," Harry finally said, realizing that unless he got them moving, they'd probably be there until the next morning.

"What are you going to do instead?" Malfoy asked disinterestedly.

"I'm going flying."

And Harry had the distinct pleasure of seeing Malfoy's eyes snap open in surprise, and then Malfoy's face lit up with a genuine smile.

**ooooooo**

"I missed this," Malfoy said as they sped towards the lake, his words almost lost in the wind.

"Me too," Harry said, a stupid useless sentimental lump in his throat. Until they'd lifted off, he hadn't really let himself think about just how much.

"Over there-" Malfoy pointed, "There's a good lookout point on that hill - here, follow me," he swerved off, and Harry followed, the sheer joy of being in the air again, of being free, filling him with energy.

They reached the lookout point far faster than either of them expected, and hovered over it for a moment.

"Land, or keep flying?" Harry asked.

Malfoy grinned. "Keep flying!" and Harry was hard-pressed to keep up as he took off.

He was good, Harry thoughts as they raced each other. He flew effortlessly, as though he were part of the wind itself - and through their bond, Harry realized that was how Malfoy felt. As though once he was on a broom, he was free of everything but the rush of the air around him.

Freedom, that's what flying was. They'd have to come out more often.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled above the rush of the air.

"What?"

"I'm going to do some drills, don't fall behind," Malfoy said, starting a dive as he spoke. Harry grinned and followed, and they automatically settled into the Standard Quidditch Warm-Up Set: dives, rolls, tumbles, swerves, feints, all made more challenging by the fact that they had to stay close together. It was wonderful, working out again, and with a partner with whom he didn't have to hold back. Malfoy was meeting him at every acrobatic move, and they were slowly getting more and more competitive, but still relatively good-natured - more of a 'Look what I can do' than a spiteful 'Look how much better I am than you.'

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted at the end of a roll.

"What?"

"Seeker's Game? Best three out of five?"

Malfoy didn't bother to answer, but instead immediately headed back towards the school and the Quidditch storage area. Harry followed, hovering in the air as Malfoy darted into the hut, got the Quidditch box, and released the Snitch, kicking off and going up immediately.

They waited ten seconds, giving the Snitch a head start, then flew off to catch it.

Exhilarating, that's what it was, thought Harry. Skill against skill, no Bludgers, Quaffles, Beaters, Chasers or Keepers. Nothing but two Seekers pitting their speed and manoeuvrability against each other and the golden Snitch. And there it was, dancing barely ahead of Malfoy, and Harry dove for it as Malfoy reached out, and Harry nearly knocked him off his broom on his way to the Snitch, Malfoy's indignant exclamation lost in the wind as he shoved Harry right back and Harry hurtled down, losing altitude and trying frantically to stay on his broom.

"Bloody hell!" Harry sped up, trying to catch up to Malfoy, who put on a burst of speed, fast enough to overtake the Snitch, and nearly knocked himself off his own broom as he reached out to catch it before it fell behind him.

Malfoy's triumphant yell echoed through the air as his fingers closed around it. Harry pushed down his disappointment and curtly motioned to Malfoy to let it go again.

And they were off again, and the sky was incredibly vividly blue and the wind was fresh and clean and nothing existed in the world but two Seekers and a Snitch.

**ooooooo**

"God I wish I could still play," blurted Harry as they finally landed at the lookout point and climbed off, both of them exhausted, damp and breathless.

"Me too," Malfoy said quietly, looking out over the water.

"It's such an amazing feeling, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Harry sat down and looked over at Malfoy, noting that his mood, which had soared after he won their game, seemed to have settled considerably on the flight back to the lake.

"What's wrong?"

Malfoy shook his head and sat down beside Harry.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just wish I could play again."

"Yeah."

There was a silence, finally broken by Malfoy. "I wish... I wish a lot of things were back to how they used to be."

Harry nodded, looking over the lake, the high of flying slowly fading away.

"We should have brought food," he realized.

"Next time," Malfoy said. "So, head back?"

"No thanks, I'll fall off. I'm exhausted," Harry lay back on his elbows, still gazing out at the lake.

"So what do we do?"

"What about the list?"

Malfoy started to object, then shrugged and nodded resignedly. "Yeah, all right. Do you remember any of them off the top of your head?"

"Er... one was Quidditch-"

"No thanks," Malfoy said curtly, and Harry sensed the subject was a little too raw for him right now.

"Er... I think we were supposed to talk about what we thought of marriage before the spell."

"Yeah, all right."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you ever think about marriage when you were growing up?"

"No, you go first," Malfoy said, leaning back on his elbows too.

Harry picked a small clover and nibbled on it, thinking. "I don't know. Not much, I don't think, to be honest. I didn't know if I'd even survive to adulthood. I still don't."

"You never thought about it?"

"I must have at some point, I suppose. I suppose I wanted what my parents had. Well, what I've been told they had. You know, what you made fun of, romantic Muggle notions. Somebody to love and trust. Somebody to have kids with. Be friends with."

"But you never saw any of that. You didn't know your parents."

"My aunt and uncle seemed to have a good marriage. They hated me, but they seemed happy with each other, god only knows why."

"They hated you? Why?"

"My aunt and uncle... never mind. That's a whole other topic. But they seemed to get on pretty well with each other. I suppose I wanted that too."

Malfoy nodded.

"What did you think about?"

Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. "Not much. I suppose... I wondered what her family would be like. What my family would achieve by allying ourselves with hers. What our children would be like. What they would get from their mother that they would bring to the Malfoy line."

"Smashingly romantic."

He shrugged. "It's just a political alliance; anything else is a fringe benefit."

"Do your parents not get along?"

Malfoy seemed puzzled by the question. "No, they get along well. They're a lot alike. It's a good marriage, I think..." he trailed off.

There was a long pause, as Harry watched Malfoy brood. "What?" he finally asked.

Malfoy started a little, as if he'd forgotten that Harry was there. "You know... what you wanted, you can still have. You'll be able to find somebody to love and all that rubbish, assuming you can find a girl daft enough to like you back." Harry noted that the requisite insult lacked the usual force, as though Malfoy were just going through the motions of hostility. "You've lost the right to call her your wife, but everything else, you can still have." He sat up and tossed a small stone into the lake. "I can't. I can't marry anybody else; I'm off the market. There won't be any alliances in my generation," he said bitterly.

"Is it really that important?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Obviously not to people like you or your parents, or the sodding Weasleys. But to old families in the wizarding world, yes, it's bloody important." He threw another stone into the lake, flinging it with far more force than the first.

Harry kept his mouth shut, not particularly wanting to get into an argument about their different views on marriage. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Malfoy shrugged and tossed another stone.

"Doesn't it make any difference that this isn't a voluntary bond? I mean, wouldn't some family still want to, I don't know, make some other sort of 'alliance' with yours, even if it can't be called a marriage?"

"A bond is a bond, and you can only have one. No good family would let their daughter be attached to a man who can't even give her his name."

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not bloody well fair, but that's the way it is. It happened to the Verbindungs, very old German family, about twenty years ago; the heir was an idiot who ended up making a bond with a no-name Irish witch while he was out on a bender. He was eighteen. He sobered up and realized what he'd done, but she didn't want to dissolve the bond, so there he is, still effectively single. They don't live together, they've got nothing together, but as long as she's alive and refusing to dissolve it, he can't marry anybody else. You wouldn't believe how much standing the family's lost since then."

"That's too bad."

"Mind you, my father's somewhat brighter than Herr Verbindung, and at least what happened to me wasn't because of an embarrassing drinking incident. We'll probably be a little better off. Still. It's not good."

"I suppose not."

Malfoy stared at the lake, tossing stones in one after another, and Harry waited patiently while he worked out his frustration. Wondering, not for the first time, if he would ever fully understand the wizarding world. Even after seven years, he still kept smacking up against unexpected differences, blank spaces in his knowledge of wizarding ways and customs. All sorts of things that he would've known, had his parents been alive to raise him in this world.

A long time later, Malfoy finally seemed to have calmed himself down. "At least the heir part's still all right," he said resignedly, tossing one last stone into the lake. "Although I'm sure you'll be impossible while you're expecting," he muttered.

"Expecting what?"

"Children."

"What?"

"Well somebody has to have them, Potter," Malfoy said impatiently.

"What?" Harry repeated blankly.

"How else do you think heirs come about?"

"Doesn't that kind of thing usually require a woman?"

"Do you see a woman here? How else do you think male couples have children?"

Harry gaped at Malfoy.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"Are you serious?" Harry sat up.

"Well how do Muggles do it?"

"They adopt, or get a woman to carry the - you're not  _serious_?" Harry said, his emotions finally coming out of shock and making way for stunned disbelief.

"Don't Muggles have any male pregnancies?"

"No!"

"Rather sexist of them, isn't it?"

"Malfoy, you are joking, aren't you?"

"I can't believe you hadn't thought about this before. It would've been the first thing I would've thought of if I'd been the lower-status spouse, personally. After all, that's who carries the children if it's two men in the marriage-"

" _What?_ "

"Goodness, Potter, you're turning the most alarming shade of green-" and then Harry finally had the presence of mind to reach out and try to sense Malfoy's feelings behind his voice and manner.

"You BASTARD!" he shouted in disbelief as Malfoy finally started to crack. "You absolute fucking WANKER!"

Malfoy dissolved in laughter, unable to do more than bat away at Harry's wild swings at his head.

"I can't BELIEVE-"

"Can't believe - you fell for-" Malfoy managed to gasp between peals of laughter, "Honestly, Potter - your face, oh, what I wouldn't give for Creevey's camera-" Malfoy collapsed into helpless laughter again and Harry's glare started to turn into a sheepish smile, then into an outright laugh.

"Yeah, all right. All right, yeah, you got me," he said, putting his hands up. "Fine, yes, let's all mock the Muggle-raised twit here and I swear if you tell your Slytherin friends about this I'll make tentacles sprout from your nose."

Malfoy nodded, still red-faced and unable to speak.

Harry sat back, waiting for him to settle, reflecting on how rare it was to see Malfoy utterly let go of his composure. He wondered whether Malfoy had been born with shields in place, or whether his parents - most likely, his father - had had to work hard to put them there.

"Oh, god," Malfoy wiped his eyes. "I can't believe you actually fell for that," he shook his head, still chuckling.

"Well how was I supposed to know?"

"Honestly, Potter, men having babies?"

"If you'd told me seven years ago that people could actually fly on broomsticks or make themselves invisible or turn themselves into animals, I would've thought you were mental. What's male pregnancy compared to that?"

"But all of that's useful, you could see people wanting to do it. Male pregnancy? Who'd want that?"

"Who'd want to raise Blast-Ended Skrewts either, I'd like to know, and yet we both know how."

"Fair enough."

"So how does parenthood work, then? I assume you're still going to have an heir, right?"

Malfoy shrugged carelessly. "I'll probably have a child with some woman and name them my heir, but they'll be a bastard. A little bit of tarnish on them. And not from a terribly good family either."

"Why not?"

"No proper family would allow their daughter to have a child with a man who's not bonded to her."

"Would that matter?"

"What?"

"Would it make you love your child less, if they didn't have the right pedigree?"

"I don't know about loving them less, but I'd definitely value them less. And so would everybody else."

"You're joking."

"Don't ask questions if you don't want to hear the answer, Potter," Malfoy said evenly, and Harry decided it was probably a good idea to drop the topic.

They gazed out at the lake for a few more minutes, then Harry looked at his watch. "We should probably go back."

Malfoy started to nod, then looked at the school in the distance. Harry followed his gaze. Two large groups of students were coming out of the school, one heading towards Hagrid's place, one towards the Quidditch pitch.

"I don't particularly want to run into anybody right now, do you?" Malfoy asked.

"No." Harry lay back on his elbows, turning his face towards the sun and closing his eyes. "It's not bad out here," he commented. "Wish I'd brought something cooler to wear, though."

"Why?"

"Got overheated from the exercise, but the wind's too cool to just wear a t-shirt. Actually," he sat up and removed his jumper, "to hell with the wind." He wadded up his jumper and put it under his head, lying back down, and closing his eyes again. "Yeah, it's not that cold."

There was a long silence, then Harry felt a prickle of unease. He opened his eyes to find Malfoy staring very determinedly out at the lake, his face somewhat flushed.

"What?"

Malfoy tsk'd in annoyance, not bothering to look at Harry.

"What?" Harry sat up.

"Oh for god's sake, Potter, you are clueless," Malfoy said impatiently.

"Oh." Harry was suddenly aware of Malfoy's emotions, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment, wondering if putting his jumper back on would be sensible or silly.

"Don't bother," Malfoy snapped, turning away. "You're not that irresistible." He started to get up and Harry put out a hand to stop him before he realized he was doing it. "What?"

"We're supposed to be getting to know each other, right?" he said evenly. "We're supposed to be working on me not being frightened of your feelings," he hesitated. "Or my own."

Malfoy was just staring at him, and Harry took a deep breath and drew slightly closer, reminding himself that nothing bad had happened this morning. And that it had been rather pleasant, as a matter of fact. Rather overwhelming too, just like what had happened in Dumbledore's sitting room last night, but overall, pleasant.

He reached out to Malfoy's feelings, encountered arousal and - "Why are you nervous?"

"Not nervous," Malfoy said quickly. "Just... I, I don't know what you're going to do next." He shut his eyes as soon as he said it, embarrassment flooding through him. "I mean, no, that's not - I keep expecting you to panic or something."

"Have I panicked yet?"

"No, but-"

"Then don't expect me to," Harry said, a little amused at Malfoy's apprehension. Funny how Malfoy was irritable but in control as long as Harry was avoiding him, but let Harry make any advances and Malfoy became distinctly uneasy. Harry smiled and leaned closer, running a hand down Malfoy's arm and ending up brushing their fingers together. Malfoy caught his breath, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Er, Potter... this place isn't exactly private-"

But Harry had already decided that he didn't give a damn. He leaned in and kissed Malfoy, who made a startled noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak before responding and reaching up to cup Harry's cheek with one hand and pulling him closer with the other.

Oh, this was nothing to be afraid of at all, thought Harry as their kiss deepened and he started to fall into that state where there was nothing but their lips and hands caressing each other. In fact, doing this with Malfoy was a damn sight nicer than doing just about anything else with him. As long as they were doing this they didn't have to worry about anything else - families, personalities, school, anything. It all just disappeared in the rush of excitement and physical pleasure.

Oh yes, Harry thought as he pushed Malfoy onto his back, nuzzling his neck and smiling at the way Malfoy's hands tightened on his shoulders. Far from being the worst part of the bond, this was becoming by far the best. Malfoy had been right after all. Like and love didn't have to have anything to do with sex.

Harry sighed as Malfoy's hands became more urgent, drawing him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, firmly moving his face aside so that Malfoy could press a line of kisses down his neck and towards his ear and oh, how in hell had he lived without this kind of thing for so long...

"Potter," Malfoy murmured a few minutes later, as Harry hesitantly started to untuck Malfoy's jumper from his trousers, "Potter, wait," he whispered, grabbing at Harry's hands.

"What?" Harry asked impatiently.

"What are you doing?"

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

"What is this?"

"I believe it's called snogging," Harry said, rather annoyed. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry reflected that the irritation on his face would've been rather off-putting if it hadn't been balanced out by his quick breathing, flushed features and reddened lips.

"I mean, why are we doing this here, now, where anybody can see us if they bother to look up? Why not back in our room?"

"I don't think anybody's going to look up here," he said, going back to Malfoy's neck. "And even if they do," he added between kisses, "they're too far away to be able to tell who we are-"

"Really?" Malfoy jolted a little as Harry's mouth reached a particularly sensitive spot, but he continued, albeit slightly breathlessly. "Even without magnifying spells, two male students groping - oh - er, groping at each other in the middle of the day when everybody else is in class - you don't think anybody would be able to figure out who we are?"

"Why does that matter?" Harry buried his face into Malfoy's hair, enjoying the feeling of Malfoy's hands sliding over his back, his shoulders.

"Why are we here, Potter? Why not in our rooms?"

Harry heaved a sigh and pushed himself up on his elbows, staring down at Malfoy. "Why?"

"Because I'd be far more comfortable there. I don't particularly want Colin Creevey's bloody camera clicking away at us."

Harry blew out his breath, frustrated. "Colin Creevey is nowhere around. But if you're that nervous, why don't we move over there," he nodded at a slight rise in the ground, "Out of sight of the castle."

"Why don't we move over there," Malfoy nodded towards the castle, "Where I won't have a bloody great root stabbing me in the back every time you - oh, er," he trailed off distractedly as Harry started to nibble on his ear. "No, hang on, stop," he pulled away determinedly, clearing his throat. "Potter, this is uncomfortable."

"Right, then," Harry grabbed his shoulders and rolled onto his back, bringing Malfoy with him and grinning at his startled squawk. "Better?" He stared up at Malfoy, suddenly disoriented and a little taken aback - with Malfoy looming over him, and him helpless on his back and half-pinned down by Malfoy's upper body, this wasn't quite the same. Malfoy drew back, a curious expression on his face.

"What is it?"

Harry shook his head, trying to banish his unease. "Nothing," he drew Malfoy back down to him, and Malfoy responded willingly enough for a few heated kisses but then drew away, bracing himself on his elbows.

"Potter. Stop. You're not enjoying this. You're getting bloody tense, as a matter of fact. And you still haven't answered why we have to do this here instead of-" Malfoy broke off, his head tilted to the side curiously. "Wait, why is it that every time I mention our room, you seize up?"

Harry stared up at him, debating trying to keep distracting him. Finally gave in, motioned Malfoy to move aside, and sat up.

"I don't know."

Malfoy sat up too, wiping his mouth and running a hand through his hair, pulling out a leaf that had become entangled there. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, putting his head down and wishing there were fewer feelings to sort out, because the by-now familiar combination of arousal, impatience, frustration, fear, and embarrassment was getting rather tiresome.

"Potter?"

"I don't know, all right?" Harry snapped, his eyes closed.

Malfoy made an annoyed sound and Harry felt him sit back, then there was a long silence before he felt Malfoy's hand on his arm, his touch tentative. Harry felt the familiar soothing sensation, clearing away the worst of his negative emotions and replacing them with a slightly clearer, calmer perspective.

"If we're in our room, there's nothing to stop us from going too far," Harry finally said.

"What?"

"I, I don't, I mean, this is good, but-" Harry's words stumbled to a stop, and he shook his head helplessly, not knowing how on earth to express something that wasn't clear in his own mind, even now that he was calmer.

"You don't want to go any farther than we did this morning?" Malfoy said slowly.

"No."

"Then why not just bloody well say so?"

Harry's shoulders hunched miserably. "I don't  _know_ , all right? I can't... I don't..."

Malfoy covered his eyes with his hand, taking a few deeps breaths, and Harry could clearly sense that Malfoy was exercising all the restraint he had to not shout at him in frustration.

Finally Malfoy looked up and fixed Harry with a level gaze. "Potter. Far be it from me to pressure you in any way," he began in an eminently reasonable tone of voice, "but I'd like to suggest that if you can manage sort yourself out to some minimal degree, things just might go a little more smoothly between us." He stood up and Harry tried to figure out just who Malfoy's carefully polite tone reminded him of. "Just a suggestion, mind you. Now, if it's all right with you, perhaps we can use our time wisely right now by moving away from each other and practicing those non-verbal spells for our Charms test next week. Because I certainly don't want to cause you any distress by forcing you to deal with issues that most people have worked out by the time they are twelve or thirteen."

Harry shivered a little as he finally identified who Malfoy sounded like: Lucius Malfoy, at his most freezingly polite and contemptuous. He wondered if Malfoy was consciously choosing to imitate his father or if it just came naturally. Decided he didn't want to know, because he didn't know which idea bothered him more.

He sighed as he watched Malfoy walk away and start gathering a set of materials for his Charms practice, uncomfortably aware that of the two of them, Malfoy was being far more reasonable and adult about this situation than he was. And it was probably way past time for Harry to 'figure himself out' and let Malfoy - and himself - in on just what was going on in his head. Because what he was doing right now was not fair to either one of them.

He sighed again. Self-examination. Not something he was terribly fond of. Maybe he could just think about it later.

In the meantime, he could, as Malfoy had suggested, use this time wisely to practice for their Charms test. Conveniently enough, it consisted of three sets of thirteen charms to be performed on various outdoor objects: plants, rocks, soil, insects, and, if they could manage it, a few small animals.

All right. He started scanning for objects for his first set. Four rocks, four plants, four insects, one blank spot waiting for some unlucky small bird or rodent to happen by.

Unbidden, Harry's mind wandered back to Dumbledore's office the previous night, and he firmly tried to bring it back to the task at hand before realizing that the preparation of practice sets didn't really require his full concentration. Maybe he could see what thoughts percolated on their own.

He'd been so scared last night, he thought as he carefully organized the four rocks at a safe distance from each other. So stubbornly resistant to the idea of getting close to Malfoy, so resentful of the fact that he'd have to eventually, whether he chose to do so or was forced to by some potion or spell. And then somehow, suddenly, his fear and resistance and resentment had been pushed aside by the moment, by the excitement of being near Malfoy and doing what he'd been longing to do for so long. In fact, at a certain point in time he remembered vaguely wondering what it was he'd been avoiding for so long. And maybe now was a good time to wonder about it again.

So, what was he afraid of? Why he didn't want to go farther? What exactly was the problem?

Well, he thought as he finished his first practice set and started on the second, at the beginning of their bond he'd been extremely nervous about Malfoy pushing him into doing something he didn't want to do. Malfoy was a bully. They hated each other. Malfoy had a casual attitude towards sex and a bitter but resigned acceptance of their bond as a marriage. For the first little while he'd been terrified of Malfoy just taking what the bond promised, with or without Harry's real consent, just because he could.

But that hadn't happened, at all. At no point since their bonding had Malfoy done anything to Harry that Harry hadn't wanted. Take the three times they'd been physically involved: yesterday, this morning, and a few minutes ago. All initiated by Harry. Because contrary to everything he ever thought he knew about Malfoy, Malfoy had made a promise and kept it and had not pressured him, even once. Whether it was the product of the patience potion, the bond's ability to make Malfoy feel whatever Harry was feeling, or just a side of Malfoy that Harry had simply never seen before, Harry had been perfectly safe from any pressure the whole time.

In fact, he realized as the finished the second set, he wasn't really afraid of that any more.

He started the third set.

Performance anxiety had definitely been a problem since the beginning too, he realized. He'd felt nervous as hell doing anything with Malfoy, with his open contempt for Harry's inexperience and his long and glorious history of making fun of everything Harry did. He'd been sure that Malfoy would be perfectly blasé about anything they did, and laugh at Harry the whole time, making him feel stupid and childish.

And again, he'd been wrong. Malfoy, for all his previous experience, had turned out to be hesitant, almost shy, whenever they did anything remotely intimate. And last night and this morning, Harry had been able to sense through their bond how Malfoy was bloody well almost out of his mind with excitement and overstimulated libido. Whether that came from Harry's skill or the bond's magic didn't matter; Malfoy was not blasé and was not complaining, even in his mind, about Harry's inexperience. In fact, Malfoy seemed a little shocked at how completely his own reactions had overwhelmed him.

And then, what Malfoy had done to him, how he'd kissed him and touched him in ways that nearly drove Harry crazy, how much Harry had wanted more, closer, harder... it hadn't been casual for either of them. It had been incredibly good, and he should probably remember that.

Oh dear. Harry cleared his throat and tried to also clear away the rather badly-timed arousal that that particular recollection had provoked.

Mind on the job, he told himself firmly. He had all the objects for the third set, but he needed to organize them.

So, if the fear of pressure and the performance anxiety weren't really issues any more; what else was there?

There was of course the small problem of the fact that this wasn't how he'd wanted to lose his virginity. After all, a person's first time was supposed to be pleasant, with somebody who cared about them.

Although... come to think of it, that might not have been a problem if he'd been with anybody but Malfoy. It wasn't as though Harry had always hoped to lose his virginity to the love of his life. His fantasies ran the same wide gamut as most teenage boys'. In some fantasies, he was in love with the girl, and she with him. In others, they had just met - what Seamus' Wicked Witch magazines called the "beautiful stranger at Flourish and Blotts" fantasies. In others, she was a friend or acquaintance - say, Parvati Patil, or Susan Bones - who somehow, through some unexplored miracle, would up being more.

It was time to face reality. He wasn't going to get any of the romantic fantasies, no matter what. He wasn't going to get the Flourish and Blotts fantasies either. As for the friend becoming a lover... well, replace the word 'friend' with 'nemesis', and that's what was going to happen, so he might as well accept it and make the best of it and not try to pretend that he'd had his heart set on something different all along.

Harry stared blankly at his three sets of practice objects.

As for the slight problem of Malfoy being a boy... he'd read the little book Pomfrey had given them in the first few days after their bond, blanching in disgust at the more graphic material. Certain that he'd never actually want to do any of what was described there. Now... he was starting to see the attraction. But what if he got carried away and consented, then got hurt?

And the other way around, if Malfoy by some miracle consented to let Harry - what if he hurt Malfoy? Setting aside how awful he'd feel, how was he supposed to trust that Malfoy wouldn't viciously hex him in retaliation?

He took a deep breath, making himself check his three sets and think about the charms he was supposed to perform. Not that he could concentrate on actually doing them right now.

They would just have to work things out. The book had had several suggestions on what to do to make things easier and Harry supposed he should probably take a look at them again, and this time, actually read them with a mind towards using them and not just dismissing them in disgust.

Which left his last objection, he thought as he looked over at Malfoy. What he'd said to Ron, that he was afraid to get attached. Which was more valid now than ever. The fact that they'd gone from outright hatred to grudging acceptance to... Harry didn't even have a word for what he felt for Malfoy right now, but it was so far from hatred it made him very nervous. Wouldn't it be a thousand times worse after they'd actually had sex?

There was no help for that. The only thing he could do about that particular worry was to firmly, completely, and utterly, ignore it. Exist in a bubble where they both pretended Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy and all that they represented simply did not exist. Because as Ron had said, there was no point in worrying about it right now.

The only thing he needed to concentrate on was not letting his own insecurities and fears derail any "progress" in their bloody bond. Esposito was right; this was serious, and he had no right to act like an immature child and cause himself and Malfoy more grief than they needed.

Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy glanced up from his third set, which he was busily charming.

"Charms going all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm finishing up the third set," Malfoy said distractedly, repeating a charm that had not quite worked and nodding in satisfaction as the small stone he was pointing at turned from a bilious neon yellow to a soft glowing green. He looked up. "Did you sort yourself out?"

Harry took a deep breath. "A bit, yeah."

"And?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't want to go back to our room. I'm all right with what we've done so far, but if we're there I'll want us to go farther and I don't think I'm ready for that. And... I've thought about why that is. And I'll try to deal with it. And..." he cleared his throat again, bracing himself for the worst part. "And I'm sorry."

Malfoy's eyebrows went up slightly, but he merely nodded. "Right, then. Apology accepted."

"So. Why don't we just stay here for a while? I need to do my practice charms anyway."

"It's almost lunch time."

Harry was on the verge of suggesting going to the Great Hall for lunch, then thought better of it. They hadn't been told to seclude themselves completely, but he couldn't deny that being around anybody, friend or foe, with Malfoy, was stressful. "Why don't we go get something from the elves and come back here?"

"A picnic?" Malfoy asked, amused. "How quaint."

Harry shrugged. "It's a nice day. May as well bring some books and the list too."

"Yeah, all right."

**ooooooo**

"I can't believe you like tuna sandwiches," Harry said as they settled back at the lookout point for lunch.

"Why not?"

"It's Muggle food."

"Bite your tongue."

"No, we learned that in Muggle Studies, in the section on blending in. It includes a list of food of ours that's commonly eaten by Muggles, so that we can order things and not look strange. There's a list of things not to ask for - pumpkin juice, that kind of thing. And a list of our foods that originally came from Muggles."

Malfoy peered at his sandwich as though it offended him.

"Mind you, I don't think Muggles include salamander tongue sauce in the recipe."

Malfoy took another bite. "Why would you take Muggle Studies, anyway?"

"Easy course. Besides, I really don't know all that much about normal Muggle life."

"You were raised by Muggles."

"I'd like to believe the Muggles who raised me weren't normal."

"Why not?"

"Because if they are, maybe your father has a point about Muggles after all."

Malfoy snickered. "Sounds lovely. So, are we doing item number..." he leaned forward to skim through the list, "17, then? 'Describe your childhood'?"

"Oh," Harry skimmed the list too. "Yeah, may as well. You pick the next item."

"Yeah, all right." Malfoy finished his sandwich, brushed off stray crumbs, and lay back with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the sky. "Go ahead. Let's hear about your charming Muggle relations."

"They're not charming," Harry said, lying down next to Malfoy. "They're bloody evil. The best thing about being in seventh year is knowing that I never have to live with them again."

"If they're at all responsible for your out-of-class wardrobe, I can certainly understand why."

"Yeah, almost everything I wear is second hand from my cousin Dudley."

"Second hand? Your clothing was used by somebody else first?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Wait - your clothing is enormous. Your cousin  _outgrew_  it?" he asked disbelievingly.

"He's about the size of a small dragon. Squashier, though, and far less pleasant." Harry stared up at the clouds in deep thought for a few minutes.

"Potter?" Malfoy finally prompted him.

"I'm not sure number 17 is a good idea," he said slowly, and Malfoy turned to look at him. "Because you realize that telling me about your childhood will mean telling me all about how wonderful your father is." He turned to look at Malfoy and noted a curious expression flit across his face before Malfoy schooled his features into inscrutability.

"Yeah."

"We should probably avoid a lot of subjects," Harry added.

"Yeah."

"Here, let's take a look at the list again." They both flipped onto their stomachs with the list in front of them as they read through it together.

"I'd say 'talk about your parents' is pretty much out," Malfoy said grimly, and touched his wand to the paper. A line appeared across the words.

"We've already done 'favourite school subjects'," Harry touched his own wand to it.

"'Call each other by your first names'," Malfoy read, and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Harry. Your turn."

"Right. Draco. That was easy," Harry crossed out that item. "Talk about your future after school - erm," Harry crossed it out without commentary, reflecting that it was incredibly bizarre to be doing this. Putting up clear limits on what they could and couldn't talk about, without even going into why they couldn't talk about it.

It was so strange. Here they were, supposedly getting to know each other in order to 'build intimacy,' while studiously ignoring some of the most important facets of each other's personalities and lives.

Move along, nothing to see here.

"You realize what's left doesn't involve a lot of talking," Malfoy noted when they were done crossing out items deemed too risky.

"There's 'hobbies' and 'describe your friends' and 'favourite foods'."

"And thirteen other things, none of which involve saying much," Malfoy paused. "Unless you count 'yes' or 'more' or 'harder.'"

Harry found himself laughing and only blushing very slightly. "All right, pick something."

"Hang on," Malfoy muttered a quick spell at the parchment.

Harry frowned. "What was that?"

"Spell that picks out items on a list at random. Very useful for when you're studying and dithering about which topic to study next. It decides for you," they watched as the ink turned green on one of the items. "Number 11. Ugh," Malfoy said immediately. "'Learn your partner's facial features without using your eyes, either through touch or magic or both.' Why didn't we cross this one off for sheer ridiculousness?"

"There's got to be some reason for it. Esposito's been doing this for a while."

"Yeah, and her track record with us so far has been splendid. We landed in the hospital two weeks in and almost killed each other nine days later."

"We weren't exactly following her advice, though. Besides, I thought we'd decided to give her ideas a try."

Malfoy rolled his eyes but sat up. "Fine. I'll go first." He closed his eyes, muttering "Although what this is supposed to prove is beyond me; sounds like another brilliant Muggle idea to me."

Harry sat up, taking Malfoy's hand and bringing it to his face. Malfoy's fingers touched Harry's glasses and tugged on them lightly. Harry took them off and Malfoy gently started to trace his eyebrows, his eyelids, his forehead.

Oh. Harry drew in his breath sharply. He had no idea what this was supposed to prove or accomplish in terms of building trust or a relationship or anything like that, but in terms of tweaking Harry's libido, it was working admirably. Malfoy's sharp, mocking gaze was hidden, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, his brow slightly furrowed, and his fingertips tracing Harry's features so very lightly, so delicately. Carefully stroking one cheek, running along the length of his jaw, thumb gently caressing his lips, index tracing the bridge of his nose, one hand slowly sliding towards his ear, tracing the outside - and Harry realized he was harder than he would've ever thought possible from a completely innocent touch.

Malfoy opened his eyes, half-smiling at Harry as Harry stared back at him, his mind perfectly blank and body perfectly aroused.

"Well well," Malfoy drawled. "Maybe not such a stupid idea after all?"

Harry shook his head, his mouth dry. Malfoy slowly took Harry's hand and brought it up to his own face, then reached out and closed Harry's eyelids gently. Harry bit his lip and started feeling Malfoy's features. Tracing the sharp nose, soft tendrils of hair brushing his forehead, very slight stubble along his jaw, lips that felt a lot softer than they looked and warmed Harry's fingertips with small quick breaths...

"Mmm..." Malfoy made a small sound and shifted a little and Harry bit his lip harder. "That feels... very nice."

"Erm... I don't think this is supposed to-"

"Well, it does," Malfoy replied unsteadily. Harry's fingers were still resting against his lips, and his pulse rose sharply as Malfoy leaned closer, gently lowering Harry's fingers and pressing his lips to Harry's.

This was probably a bad idea, somehow, thought Harry, because whatever they were supposed to learn from this exercise was probably not supposed to be 'how to segue into more snogging'. They were probably supposed to learn about trust, or appreciating each other's less visible qualities, or something like that.

Then again, what was going on right now was doing that admirably too, Harry thought as he parted his lips for Malfoy, keeping his eyes closed and feeling perfectly safe doing so. Knowing that, contrary to all expectations, Malfoy would be attentive and responsive and make Harry feel so incredibly good it would be impossible to remember that it was all based on a spell. It was hard to think, as somebody shivered under your touch and seemed to go out of his way to make you shiver too, that there was nothing there but hormones and a curse.

Harry moaned as Malfoy pressed a line of kisses along his neck, one hand cradling his cheek and the other rubbing small circles onto his back. He reached up to Malfoy's face and carefully touched his eyelids, and Malfoy smiled into his neck and obligingly closed them, and they concentrated on learning each other's bodies with touch alone.

Damn. He should've given in to this from the very beginning. What in god's name had he been thinking?

**ooooooo**

"It's getting late," Harry murmured into Malfoy's hair a few hours later, wondering a little at the perfectly relaxed, content tone of his voice. Malfoy stirred slightly, yawned and lifted his head from Harry's shoulder, propping himself up on his elbow.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Harry checked his watch. "Almost six."

"Dinner time." Malfoy's brow furrowed. "Wait - we've been here six hours?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't seem that long."

"We were busy," Harry pointed out, chuckling.

"Mm, yeah," Malfoy smiled, then sat up and stretched, rubbing the side of his neck. "I think I fell asleep for a bit, too."

Harry sat up too, nodding. They had been busy. While they'd eventually stopped kissing after the face-touching exercise and dutifully made themselves pick out three more items from The List, they'd come back to physical intimacy each time, for the flimsiest of reasons. "Describe your favourite foods" had become "allow the sensual descriptions of said foods to turn into more snogging." "Practice casting simple transfiguration spells together" had become "transform a flower into a wind chime, a tree into a coat, jokingly transform a patch of grass into a blanket, then end up snogging on said blanket."

"Study together," had not provided a segue so much as an excuse; rather frustrated from three heated makeout sessions that had ended without satisfactory conclusion, they'd become bored after half an hour of reading and ended up snogging again. The last time, they hadn't bothered to restrain themselves, beyond making sure they were out of direct line of sight of the school and that their clothing remained more or less on. They'd both come fairly quickly, and dropped into satiated somnolence even faster.

"Do you want to go to the Great Hall for dinner?" Harry asked.

"Not really."

"Kitchens again?"

"Yeah. Oh - actually, no," Malfoy said.

"Then where?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" Harry frowned. "It's not a Hogsmeade weekend."

"We're not in school right now, are we?"

"But-"

"Three Broomsticks?"

"I - I don't know-"

"We'll check in with Pomfrey, then fly down," Malfoy said, rather persuasively.

"But-"

"But what?"

"We've - I mean, we've not gone anywhere in public, what if people-"

"Stare?" Malfoy scoffed. "It's Hogsmeade. They're used to students and used to being discreet with the press. No other students will be there. I'd much rather go there than just about anywhere else that's public."

Harry smiled despite himself. Hogsmeade at night, during the week. That should be interesting.

It was almost like... almost like a date.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a drawing of a scene in Chapter 6 at
> 
> i9.photobucket.com/albums/a71/AnnaFugazzi/BondCh6.jpg
> 
> As it's my drawing and not Chibitoasters, I can make no guarantee as to quality ;)


	7. October 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Kyllikki for beta-work :)

**Day 25, Friday**

Draco was dreaming, and under no circumstances whatsoever did he want to wake up.

There had been so many of these dreams, he thought dazedly. So many dreams where he was finally able to do everything he wanted with Potter, where they didn't have to stop because of his silly moral objections or fear of intimacy or whatever they were calling it at the moment. Dreams where there was only impulse, no control. Where they touched and held and stroked and melted into each other and gasped together and - Oh, no, he thought desperately,  _please_  don't let me wake up-

But it was too late, yet not a bad thing, he realized a few bewildering moments later, as he found himself waking up from a very good dream into an even better reality. Because Potter was all over him and murmuring into his ear, his voice husky and raw.

"Uhn-" Draco managed.

"I said, if this is payback for that other morning, you win," Potter said, exasperated, half-propped up on one elbow, his hands a little rough on Draco's shoulders, "You're driving me mental, wake up-"

"M'awake," Draco mumbled, pulling Potter closer. He gasped, feeling the hard heat of Potter's erection against his own, nothing but thin cotton between them. "God, yes, I'm awake," he drew in his breath shakily as Potter hesitated a split second, then pulled them closer so that they were fully pressed together, slipping one leg between Draco's, sliding an arm down to Draco's waist to hold him firmly in place.

They groaned together as the pressure built up, Potter's fingers digging painfully into Draco's back and Draco blindly mouthing Potter's neck as they thrust against one other, and Potter swore and Draco felt the tide rising and carrying him along, and Potter was so incredibly hot and his neck felt like silk under Draco's lips, and Potter's hand was stealing in under Draco's t-shirt, his fingers leaving trails of heat, and they were both so damn close so damn fast - and then Potter suddenly went very still and he  _felt_  Potter's orgasm spike through him before ever feeling Potter pulsing against him, and then he was climaxing so hard it felt like he was being torn apart, but in the very, very nicest way.

They were still gripping each other close. Draco could dimly feel Potter's heart racing, past the rush of his own heart loud in his ears. Then a wave of exhaustion swept through him and Potter's arms lost their iron grip and Potter sighed against Draco's neck, and Draco reflected that this might be the function of the post-sex lethargy: to not leave them energy enough to feel self-conscious. Because Potter hadn't wanted this kind of thing to happen yet, so very close to actual sex, and now it had. And Draco really couldn't deal with another one of Potter's existential crises right now, but that was fine, because it felt like Potter was going to go back to sleep instead.

Draco let his mind drift, vaguely noting that they were both rather damp from exertion, and that it was just fine with him. And that he was too bloody tired to even use the sheet-cleaning spell on them both, and that didn't matter either.

**ooooooo**

"Do you think there's still breakfast at the kitchens?" Potter asked, a long time later.

"If there isn't, you can always butter up Dobby."

Potter smiled, slowly sitting up. "So. Repeat of yesterday?"

"You mean, flying, picnic, and the list?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, but we'd better do more reading. I'm falling too far behind as it is."

"That's one of the list items anyway," Potter reminded him. "Study together. Although it didn't work out too well yesterday."

Draco snickered and sat up, getting out of bed and gathering his books while Potter brushed his teeth and hair. A rather useless gesture, that last one, Draco thought as he entered the washroom.

"Potter, can't you tie that back?" Draco gestured as he picked up his own comb. "It looks disgraceful."

"Mrs. Weasley would probably say I need to cut it, but that doesn't make it any better," Potter said ruefully, giving up on it and starting to rub shaving potion on his face.

"No, it doesn't," Draco said, frowning in annoyance at a tangle in his own hair.

"Your hair could stand a cut too, you know," their mirror told him, and Draco nodded absently, then gave the mirror an odd look.

"What?" Potter asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged. Potter looked at him curiously, scrubbing the shaving potion off his face. "Nothing, just - married wizards traditionally wear it long."

"Really? Ron's dad doesn't," Potter commented, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"What a shock, Arthur Weasley not following wizarding tradition."

"Is that really what's expected?" Potter asked curiously, and Draco shrugged.

"Not really. It's not that unusual to cut it any more." Abruptly he decided he didn't much care about wizarding tradition in this particular instance; he would bloody well cut his hair at the first opportunity.

"Oh, don't forget Pomfrey wanted to see us first thing," Potter said, drying his face. "Actually, let's go now, while everybody's still in first period."

"Are we going to avoid everybody until Monday, then?" Draco asked, leaving the washroom.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Really?" Draco was a little surprised. "Why?"

"Easier that way."

"We can't hide forever."

"We won't, we'll be back on Monday. Even back in the dorms, if you want." Potter hesitated. "Even - even Slytherin, if you want, I mean it'd be only fair-"

"Don't be daft," Draco said absently, pulling out non-classroom clothing. "I'm not going back to Slytherin until things have settled down."

"What? Why?"

"My housemates would rip you to pieces, Potter. You know that," Draco pulled on a shirt. "Your housemates are fluffy and cuddly and give me liquorice melts."

Potter laughed. "I would've thought you'd-"

"You thought what? That I'd insist on returning to Slytherin? So my housemates can say something perfectly innocent and you can lose that impressive temper of yours and then we can both be committed to St. Mungo's Mental Maladies wing? No thanks. I'd like to come out of this in one piece, if that's all right with you."

"Right, then," Potter said curtly, packing textbooks into his bag. "Pomfrey, then breakfast." He rooted around his desk, trying to find his notes for Potions.

Oh for god's sake, now Potter was insulted about something. "Whatever I said, sorry," Draco muttered, irritably wishing he'd walked through that doorway with somebody else,  _anybody_  else. Or better yet, that Potter had walked through it with somebody else. "I didn't mean to-" he cut off 'hurt your ickle feelings' just in time. Potter turned to him.

"You're getting rather good at apologizing, have you noticed?"

"Wonderful," Draco said sourly, and Potter grinned at him. "And now you either say That's all right or Up yours, remember?"

Potter stopped him, one hand on his arm and an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes briefly searched Draco's for something, Draco had no idea what. Whether he found it or not, Draco couldn't tell, but he felt a start of surprise as Potter's eyes lowered to Draco's mouth and then he stepped closer and kissed him. Draco hesitated a brief moment before responding, and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

"Potter," he murmured as their kisses started to heat up with dizzying speed, and Potter dropped his schoolbag, "weren't we going to go see Pomfrey - um - during first period?"

"Right," Potter drew away, laughing slightly. "Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair and picked up his schoolbag again, and motioned Draco out the door.

**ooooooo**

"What did you think about Pomfrey?" Potter asked a few hours later as they broke for lunch.

"This morning?" Draco asked. Potter nodded. "I'm sure it's as she said. Probably nothing to worry about."

"She looked worried, though."

"Yeah," Draco shrugged, concentrating on his sandwich. Malfoys had a strong belief in paying others to worry for them; that's what solicitors and health professionals and people like that were there for, after all. But it was a little hard not to be a little concerned when the school nurse, unflappable when dealing with everything from broken bones to Quidditch-induced comas, looked like she was lying through her teeth when she told them the lethargy both still reported post-sexual activity was 'probably perfectly normal.' "Nothing we can do about it, though. She didn't tell us to stop."

"Good thing," Potter said dryly.

Draco chuckled, and changed the subject. "Where do you get this fondness for picnics, Potter? Did your Muggle family do this often?"

"Picnics? God no. Aunt Petunia would've died at the thought of eating outside. So unsanitary. What about your family?"

Draco laughed out loud. "Tell me you can picture my mother - or my father, for that matter - eating on the grass." Potter shook his head, sharing the laugh, and Draco was struck by how completely relaxed they both were. And by the fact that he hadn't felt like killing Potter in several hours. Things were definitely looking up.

It was... a little unsettling, actually.

"So why are you willing to eat out here?" Potter asked.

"I'm not my parents," Draco pointed out. "Besides, the alternatives are the Great Hall, our quarters, or Hogsmeade."

"Thought you liked Hogsmeade last night."

"Yeah, it was fine."

"D'you want to go back tonight?" Potter asked, and Draco nodded. Hogsmeade had actually been rather brilliant, and they'd stayed out a lot longer than he'd planned. Decent food, change of scenery, and that wonderful Hogsmeade indifference towards students. The entire village most probably knew exactly who they were and why there were in Hogsmeade in the middle of the week, but not one person had so much as raised an eyebrow at them. It had felt a damn sight more comfortable than the Great Hall, come to think of it.

And the fact that they weren't socially isolated, but none of their classmates were around, was wonderful. It almost made Draco wish that they didn't have to go back to class on Monday, that they could just stay on this-

This what? Honeymoon?

Draco abruptly felt utterly disoriented.

"What's wrong?" Potter asked.

Draco glanced at him, shaking his head and firmly trying to force his mind away from where his thoughts were going. Because these four days were supposed to have one purpose only: for him and Potter to get to the point where they could co-exist without killing each other, until the intensity of their bond got to a manageable level and they could gratefully take their leave of one another and never see each other again.

He was not supposed to start to find Potter interesting and pleasant to be around. He was not supposed to feel  _content_  in Potter's presence, or wonder what he would have to say about something, or find himself agreeing with Potter, or appreciating his sense of humour. Or looking forward to going to Hogsmeade with him again.

Potter was frowning. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Er, nothing. Here, let's - we should go flying, or-"

"You haven't finished your lunch."

"I-I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong?" and oh shit, now Potter was looking concerned and putting down his sandwich. "Malfoy?" Potter touched his hand, peering at him in consternation.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Draco drew his hand away quickly, shaking his head and looking away from Potter's increasingly worried face.

"Malfoy, what the-"

"Back off," Draco said shortly, and Potter sat back, his concern now tinged with annoyance.

"Fine. Sorry," he said curtly. "I just thought - I thought I could calm you down, that's all. You look like you need it. Feel like it, too," he rubbed the back of his neck absently.

"So you're going to do your soothing magic?" Draco sneered. "Spare me."

"What's your problem all of a sudden?"

He stood up, suddenly furious - furious at Potter for his concern and at himself for his feelings. "Piss off," he spat, a lot more angrily than he meant to. Potter's eyes widened slightly and he scrambled to his feet.

"What's the matter with you??"

"You!" Draco felt a thrill of satisfaction as Potter drew back, almost physically repelled by the force and suddenness of Draco's anger. Potter made a small motion towards his wand, which he'd carelessly left on the ground, then caught Draco's glance at the wand and almost involuntarily moved his hand towards his neck instead, to the portkey hanging from a chain under his shirt.

"Going to use your portkey to St. Mungo's, are you?" Draco smirked. "Go ahead. Be my guest."

"You'd have to come too," Potter reminded him, and Draco shrugged, not really giving a damn as long as he wasn't feeling the way he'd felt a few moments ago. "We'd be giving up and putting ourselves into other people's hands," Potter said, his voice unnaturally calm.

"Splendid idea, let's go," he said carelessly, reaching for his own portkey. Potter grabbed his hand.

"Why?"

"The fact that you're thinking of escaping is a pretty big clue that this isn't working, don't you think?" he asked snidely, pulling away from Potter again.

"It  _was_  working. Until less than a minute ago. We weren't fighting, we were getting along and-" Potter broke off and Draco felt a small bubble of fear just under the surface - Oh, no, please don't let Potter think about how either of them were feeling right before this moment... "And now you're - you're scared. Why?"

"Piss. Off," Draco said, hearing his voice trembling slightly and clamping down on the escalating panic.

"What the hell is going on??"

"Back OFF!!"

"NO! I'm not giving up just because you've got some kind of panic attack or something - or, or because you're angry at me, because I can tell that's only because you're scared-"

"I'm not-"

"You know I can help. I've done it before - you get tense and I can calm you down-"

"There's only one kind of 'tension' I need your help with," Draco sneered and Potter, after a moment of confusion, blushed. Draco felt steadier all of a sudden - this at least was familiar territory: making Potter uncomfortable as hell, then going in for the kill. "Oh, is that too scary for you too?"

Potter stared at him, at a total loss in the face of Draco's rapidly changing emotions. He really was rather attractive, Draco's mind pointed out helpfully, especially when his face was a little flushed and he was breathing unevenly like he was right now.

"What do you say, Potter?" Draco raked his eyes over Potter's body and was rewarded by a spark of almost unwilling reciprocal interest from Potter.

"N-no-"

"Why not?"

"You're - you're angry-"

"Haven't had angry sex before, have you? It's quite charming in its own way."

"I haven't had any kind of sex before, remember?" Potter said, evidently attempting an even tone, which didn't quite make it because it carried a little too much fear. "And I'm not about to start now, not with you like this."

"Where's your famous Gryffindor courage?"

"That wouldn't be courage, it would be stupidity," Potter said, growing steadily more flustered as Draco smirked at him and stepped into his personal space. "Besides, I don't want to."

Draco laughed. "Lying to your spouse under a new bond is almost impossible, Potter," he said, and Potter flushed even darker. "At least one part of you definitely wants to," he said, glancing down, then meeting Potter's eyes with a smirk. Draco stepped closer and Potter backed away.

"I, I thought you said you couldn't if-"

"If you were really as reluctant as you'd like to be, believe me, I wouldn't be anywhere near you."

Potter looked almost frozen with conflicting impulses.

"I'm not touching you," Draco held up his hands and stepped back, mocking Potter with the gesture of non-aggression. "Next move is entirely up to you."

Potter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to Draco's mouth before being drawn up to his eyes again.

He hesitantly touched Draco's arm and Draco drew in his breath. And then something seemed to snap within Potter and he was suddenly closer and pushing Draco against the nearest tree, and Draco started to shove him right back, preparing to wrest control from him - then he hesitated.

With Potter as shaky as he was right now, who knew what would happen if Draco resisted him in any way. This might turn into a fight. They might do each other serious damage.

Feeling like he was stepping off a cliff on a whim, Draco let Potter back him up against the tree and surrendered all control to him. And then Potter was pressing against him, his hands coming up to Draco's hair and holding him in place as he lunged in and took Draco's mouth in a hard kiss. Draco immediately tilted his head back and parted his lips, letting Potter do what he would, his hands resting against Potter's hips for balance but not trying to control him in any way.

Oh, yes, he thought gratefully as Potter almost bit his lip, this had nothing to do with affection or romance or anything soft and sweet and dangerous. This was nothing but sex and anger and catharsis, and it didn't matter which of them was feeling or acting out which parts, it still felt sharp and cleansing.

Draco gasped as Potter gave him a not-so-gentle bite on the side of the neck. "Y-you can do that harder-" and he cried out as Potter did just that and a bolt of pleasure/pain seared through him.

Potter was tugging hastily at Draco's shirt, untucking it from his trousers, running his hands up Draco's back, and Draco obligingly helped and reached for Potter's shirt as well, both clumsily unbuttoning each other in between hard, bruising kisses, pushing shirts off shoulders, the feel of bare skin incredibly intense after so many weeks of chaste layers of cloth between them. Then Potter was traveling towards the side of Draco's neck again - he was going to have serious bruises at this rate, but it was thrilling and it was everything Draco needed right about now.

This was just the bond spell. This was just sex. This was safe.

Who would've guessed hostility could bring out this side of Potter, Draco wondered hazily in between heady jolts of pleasure and pain. His back was going to be bruised and scratched too, the rough bark of the tree digging into his bare skin as Potter pushed him against it, but Draco wouldn't have wanted to stop him for all the Galleons in Gringott's.

Potter drew back for a moment, chest heaving and lips swollen, his green eyes incredibly dark and intense, and Draco waited on edge for Potter to find whatever it was he needed in Draco's eyes in order to continue and not stop, please please not stop.

Potter's hand slid down and Draco's heart skipped a couple of beats as fingers slipped into his waistband. Potter was staring at him intently as he slowly unbuttoned Draco's trousers, evidently waiting for a sign as to whether he should stop or not. Draco's eyes closed involuntarily as the uncomfortable tightness in his groin eased with the loosening of his trousers, and then Potter's hand was sliding, with unbearable slowness, towards his erection and Draco couldn't move, couldn't do anything - the most coherent thought he had was that he needed to tell Potter to, for the love of God, go  _faster_  - but he couldn't even figure out how to do that and was reduced to waiting, literally breathlessly, his fingers scrabbling helplessly against Potter's shoulders, for the touch of Potter's hand.

"Oh fuck!" he gasped, his eyes popping open as Potter finally touched him and he almost came. Potter was watching him intently, and Draco didn't know how to tell him to move, move, please move, so he settled for running his hand down to Potter's trousers and hesitating only a split second before Potter gave a small nod and Draco tried, with shaking fingers, to get inside Potter's trousers too, to show him what he needed, more and harder and faster and-

Potter's eyes squeezed shut and he groaned as Draco touched him, and then they were both giving each other all they had, swift rough strokes that seemed to last somewhere between milliseconds and eons before Potter swore in a voice that sounded like a sob and Draco almost bit through his lip at the intensity of it and they spilled into each other's hands.

_Merlin_  that was a better idea than going to St. Mungo's, Draco thought as they both slid bonelessly down and ended up resting against each other at the base of the tree, their eyes closing almost of their own accord.

Oh, that was much better.

**ooooooo**

"Are you planning on telling me what happened this morning that got you so wound up all of a sudden?" Potter asked casually that night over dinner at Hogsmeade, and Draco choked slightly on his pumpkin stew.

"What?"

"What happened this morning?"

Draco scowled. "None of your business. And why bring it up now anyway?"

"I was hoping you'd bring it up yourself before now. And it's very much my business. I'd like to know what I did so I won't do it again. It was a little unnerving."

"You didn't do anything," Draco said dismissively. "It was nothing."

"I reached for my portkey, Malfoy," Potter said evenly. "I thought you were going to attack me."

"So instead  _you_  attacked  _me_ ," Draco pointed out, smirking. "And it all seemed to work out pretty well after that. At least I didn't hear you complaining." He touched his neck gingerly. "Though it'll be a little embarrassing getting Pomfrey to heal these bruises tomorrow and I wish I'd known beforehand that you're just as useless at First Aid charms as I am."

Potter, rather predictably, blushed, but didn't drop his level gaze. "Malfoy."

Draco put down his fork. He took a deep breath.

Let it out. No, he still had no idea how to explain what had happened to him this morning, and definitely absolutely no desire to talk to Potter about it.

Potter absently tapped his spoon against his plate. A rather annoying sound, Draco thought. "You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?"

"The second."

"At all, or just with me?"

"At all."

"Not an option, Malfoy. Can you talk to Pomfrey tomorrow?"

Draco sighed in annoyance. "Yeah, sure." That should be loads of fun. 'Madam Pomfrey, I think I'm getting a little too fond of my involuntary spouse, what should I do?' What could she possibly say?

Pomfrey would probably be delighted, and call it 'progress'. And it probably would be, if his involuntary spouse was anybody but Potter.

But who else was there to talk to? Father and Mother were right out - even without the embarrassment factor, he'd rather be Crucioed than admit what he was feeling to either of them. Mother would be horrified and annoyingly worried. Father would be... oh, 'disappointed' wouldn't even begin to cover how Father would feel.

Maybe Snape?

Maybe nobody. Maybe he would just mention it to Pomfrey, listen to her cluck approvingly, and hope to Merlin she also told him it was all part of the natural effect of the bond and not his fault at all. Then he could just shove down his fears and discomfort and just live day to day until the spell wore off. And hope it all worked out in the end.

"Yeah, I'll talk to Pomfrey," he said more firmly, and sternly told himself not to worry about it. At all. Really.

"Good." Potter seemed satisfied, and bit into his pasta.

"This stew's surprisingly good for Three Broomsticks," Draco said, hoping they were done with the previous subject.

"I didn't even know they had regular food here," Potter commented.

"Ugh, don't tell me this is Muggle food too," Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"No, I didn't mean Muggle food, I meant food that's not frosted tea-cakes and biscuits."

"You don't think the people who live here ever want to go out for dinner?"

"I never thought about it," Harry said.

"I've heard they have a good selection of wines, too."

"I thought only the Hog's Head served alcohol."

Draco grimaced in disgust. "That place is revolting. Can you picture the people who own Honeydukes going to the Hog's Head when they want a bit of wine with dinner?"

"Wonder if they'd serve us."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What??"

"We are of age."

"Potter, are you suggesting we try to order alcohol?"

"I wasn't suggesting anything, I just said I wondered."

"Oh, of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "So sorry, far be it from me to suggest the Gryffindor Golden Boy do anything against the rules just for fun, and not in order to save the world."

"I'm not the Prefect here," Potter shot back, stung.

"Former Prefect, courtesy of our bond and thanks ever so for reminding me. Besides, you wouldn't know how to brazen your way through breaking the rules. Don't you usually do it under cover of invisibility or something?"

"Oh and you think you could? Just get them to bring you a drink, no spells or other tricks? Just on the force of your Slytherin charm?"

"How many Galleons says I can't?"

**ooooooo**

Ron Weasley trudged along a seventh floor corridor, yawning and checking the time. 11:30 p.m. He still had time, after he finished his prefect rounds, to finish the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay that was due tomorrow, and do a reasonably good job on it. Not as good as if Harry had been there to help him and read through it before he handed it in, but still respectable.

Ron sighed, wishing again that Harry was back at the dorm. Whatever this bond was doing to Harry, it was certainly affecting the seventh-year Gryffindor boys. Without Harry there, they were all feeling a little lost; Ron had nobody to work on Defence Against the Dark Arts with, Neville had nobody to listen to his rhapsodies about Herbology, Dean had nobody to talk to about football...

Well, Harry would hopefully be back on Monday. Assuming things went well between him and that miserable ferret he was tied to. Which wasn't a good assumption to make; whatever Ron had said to Harry when they'd talked in their dorm room last weekend, he didn't honestly know how Harry could manage to make living with Malfoy liveable. He couldn't see Malfoy and Harry doing anything but fighting until they hexed each other into the hospital. McGonagall had assured the Gryffindors that they would be supervised from a distance, and that they each carried a portkey for safety, but the mere fact that they needed portkeys was proof that they shouldn't be allowed to be alone together. Not reassuring at all.

Ron stifled another yawn as he heard a noise coming from an open classroom door. He groaned and peered in, then smiled and waved at Sir Nicholas and the Grey Lady. Good. No students out of bounds. Just two ghosts who had been showing signs of romance blooming recently. No need to stay out here any longer disciplining students, arguing over how many points to take off for whatever they were doing. No need to get embarrassed by interrupting students out for a private tryst.

What would romance between two ghosts be like, Ron wondered idly as he continued his rounds, speeding up now that he was so close to being done. He turned a corner and heard another sound, from the staircase he'd just climbed.

Stifling a groan of annoyance, he walked back quietly, hoping that it wasn't Lavender and Blaise Zabini again. She was annoyed enough at him for the last time.

"Shh," someone hissed, answered by what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Shh y'rself," the giggler slurred. "Nobody here anyway. 'Sides, we're not out that far past curfew."

Ron's eyebrows shot up.  _Harry??_

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' there," Malfoy responded, sounding out of breath and vastly amused, and also very, very drunk. "Almos' there."

"Y'know where else we're almos' at?" Harry said, "Th' Room of Requirenen'. Re-quire-ment." There was a small thud and scuffle, muffled drunken snickers.

"God, Potter, y'can't hold your liquor atall," Malfoy said. "C'mon."

One of them seemed to stumble, and Ron abruptly realized he did not want to run into Harry and Malfoy right now. He glanced at the corridor and stepped behind a suit of armour just as they rounded the corner.

"An' you can?" Harry laughed. "Who almos' threw up on the stairs jus' now?"

"Didn'," Malfoy said with alcoholized dignity.

Ron peered around the suit of armour and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Harry and Malfoy were trying to navigate the perfectly clear and wide corridor with only moderate success. Harry's arm was over Malfoy's shoulder, and Malfoy's arm around Harry's waist, but it was hard to tell who was propping up whom. As Ron watched, they fell against the wall, both laughing breathlessly.

"How 'bout that," Harry slurred cheerfully. "I've got you up agains' a wall," and he leaned closer to Malfoy and kissed him. Malfoy made a small startled sound and then responded eagerly, and Ron ducked back behind the suit of armour.

Now this was far less amusing than it was embarrassing. If the muffled whispers and rustles were anything to go by, Harry and Malfoy were enjoying themselves just a tad more than anybody should outside their own quarters.

Well. It really was totally different, knowing your best mate was attracted to and possibly shagging your worst enemy, and seeing it. Or hearing it.

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' at th'room-" Malfoy protested weakly, muffled by what Ron could only assume was Harry kissing him to shut him up. Eurgh. Ron squirmed and tried to will them to keep stumbling to their own quarters before anybody else ran into them.

"I don' want our room, we're always in our room," Harry whispered, and Ron heard a small thud. He looked around the suit again and immediately ducked back, deciding he really didn't need the image of Harry and Malfoy locked in a passionate kiss, Malfoy trying to pull Harry's jumper from his trousers with one hand, the other tangled in Harry's hair, and Harry gamely trying to unbutton Malfoy's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Ernie Macmillan's voice echoed down the corridor, and Ron, Harry and Malfoy all drew in their breaths in surprise.

" _Harry_?" Ernie asked incredulously, and Ron looked out again. Harry and Malfoy were still standing in place, mouths open in surprise, one of Harry's legs in between Malfoy's thighs and Malfoy's shirt unbuttoned halfway down. "What are you  _doing_??"

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, promptly lost their startled and guilty expressions, and collapsed into giggles, leaning against each other.

"Wha's it look like, Ern?" Harry laughed.

"Harry! You're intoxicated!"

"Clever, isn' he?" Malfoy said brightly.

"Malfoy! You're both disgracefully drunk," Ernie huffed, and Harry and Malfoy only laughed harder, holding on to each other to prevent themselves from landing in an undignified sprawl on the floor.

"This is completely against school rules!" Ernie said sternly, and Ron had enough.

"Thanks, Ern, I've got them," he said, stepping out from behind the suit of armour. Harry and Malfoy turned, surprised, and overbalanced, and Malfoy barely stopped Harry from falling down completely. Unfortunately that pulled Malfoy's shirt open a little farther, revealing a line of what looked suspiciously like love bites marching down the side of his neck.

Far,  _far_  Too Much Information, thought Ron in dismay.

"Ron!" Harry said happily. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ron? Why were you behind the-"

Ron grabbed Ernie's sleeve firmly. "Leave them to me, Ern, please. I'll owe you one."

"You're not going to just let them get away with this, are you? Being intoxicated is strictly against school rules, and-"

"Pansy!" Malfoy called out, delighted, as Pansy Parkinson rounded the corner. "Look, Potter, 'sa Prefect Convention!" Harry looked, then buried his face in Malfoy's shoulder, muffling his giggles.

"Draco??" Parkinson said incredulously. "What's going on here?"

"Weasley and I are discussing what to do with these two," Ernie said, with repressive dignity.

"I'd say for starters they'll need to be led to their quarters before they pass out in the corridor," Parkinson pointed out, starting to smirk. "Draco, darling, it's a damn good thing Lucius isn't here right now."

"Isn' it though? Marvellous!" Malfoy nodded emphatically.

"Ernie, we can handle this from here," Ron said.

"I think having a prefect from another house is preferable here. You two will be biased in their favour-"

"Macmillan, we know our duties," Parkinson interrupted loudly, her tone dangerous. "We will not let them off lightly. Now kindly piss off." Ernie narrowed his eyes at her and Ron, but nodded and moved off. They both waited for Ernie to be truly gone before rounding on Harry and Malfoy.

"All right. How did he get you drunk?" Ron asked Harry.

"How did  _I_  - how d'you know it wasn'im getting  _me_  drunk?" Malfoy said indignantly.

"Was it?"

"Well..." Harry began sheepishly.

"Was sort of... both of us..."

"But you started-" Harry pointed out.

"Didn'!" Malfoy said emphatically. "I jus' said they 'ad wine, you're the one who-"

"You  _bet_  me you-"

"All right, all right," Ron broke in. "Come on. Back to your room. We'll escort you."

"Are you going t' take points?" Harry asked. "'Cause tha's not really fair, we're not in a House righ' now, are we?"

"We're volunrary - vo-lun-ta-ri-ly suspen'ed," Malfoy said carefully.

"That doesn't make this better, Draco," said Parkinson. "Suspended for fighting-"

"VolunTArily suspended-" repeated Harry.

"-and getting drunk during that suspension. Not impressive."

"Oh, shit. Y'r - Pansy, shit, don' report that part, please," Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks, looking rather worried for the first time.

"Draco-"

"I'll do detention, tha's fine. Just don'-"

"Oh, shit, yeah," Harry said urgently. "Ron, say it was jus' me."

Parkinson and Ron looked at each other, Ron extremely puzzled and Parkinson worried. "All right," she said slowly. "I won't report that part. You'll still get some trouble, you know that, right?" she asked Malfoy.

"For letting'im get drunk, yeah, but tha's alright-"

"Wait, no, not a chance-" Ron began.

"'Ron, th'worst that'll happen t'me is detention, but Malfoy's fath - OW!" Harry yelped as Malfoy gripped his arm very tightly. He turned and glared at Malfoy, then something indefinable passed between them. Malfoy dropped his eyes and released Harry's arm, and Harry straightened up, gently touching Malfoy's shoulder before turning back to Ron. "Trust me, alright? I'll explain some other time."

Ron turned to Parkinson, who had watched the exchange with a thoughtful expression on her face, and scuffed his toe roughly against the floor. "Why do I get the feeling I'm the only one out of the loop here?"

"Because you are," Parkinson said bluntly. "Weasley. It's simple. We'll take ten points off each for being out past curfew, twenty from Potter for being intoxicated, and twenty from Draco for allowing Potter to get drunk and getting obnoxious with us when we tried to punish them for being out past curfew. Nobody needs to know Draco was drunk too."

"I don't-"

"Ron, please," Harry said quietly. Ron stared at him, finally noticing that Malfoy, rather than looking smugly satisfied at the thought of getting away with something, was looking distinctly miserable and embarrassed.

"Merlin. You'd better have a good explanation for this, Harry," Ron said, giving in. Harry didn't answer, just gave Malfoy's arm a sort of comforting pat. Malfoy looked away from him and cleared his throat, but didn't draw away.

Parkinson pursed her lips and stared at them for a moment before setting off down the hall. They followed her, leaning on one another for support, Ron trailing behind them.

"So what possessed you to drink tonight?" she asked.

"What, a person can't drink on 'is own friggin' honeymoon?" Malfoy muttered testily.

Harry chuckled. "Beats a cruise round the Mediternan - Mediter-ra-nean," he said carefully.

"Explain how," Malfoy said.

"I get seasick."

"Yuck."

"D'you get seasick?"

"Malfoys don' get seasick. We 'feel under th' weather'," he said with dignity, and they both cracked up again.

"All right, here you go, Hades," Parkinson said to Sir Xander, and stepped aside as Harry and Malfoy stumbled into their quarters, still laughing. They collapsed onto the couch.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry. You two need to go to bed."

"What, in front of you?" Harry said. "Ron, mate, tha's kind of gross."

Ron blew out his breath in annoyance, ignoring Malfoy and Parkinson's snickers and glad that the room was dark so that nobody could see him blush. "I mean you need to go to sleep."

"I don't want to go t'sleep," Harry said, immediately contradicting himself with a huge yawn. "'M having too much fun. Ron, didyou know Malfoy's a funny drunk? I would've thought 'e'd be all moody an' obnoxious."

"Thought you'd get all morose an' weepy," Malfoy smirked, and for some reason Harry seemed to find it hilariously funny.

Ron and Parkinson exchanged exasperated looks, though Parkinson also seemed to be trying to suppress a case of the giggles.

"Come on, you two, you've got to get to sleep," she said.

"Why? No classes tomorrow, it's... what day 'sit tomorrow?" Malfoy yawned too.

"Saturday. But I don't trust you to not get into more trouble if I leave you alone and still awake, and I don't intend to babysit you all night," Parkinson said firmly, hands on her hips. "Now. Go get ready for bed."

"Make me," Malfoy grinned up at her, but scrambled clumsily off the couch a moment later as she approached him with her hand held out. "I didn' mean that, god, Pansy y've got no sense of 'umour atall," Malfoy muttered, shying away from her. "C'mon, Potter, or she'll use th'Unbonded Touch of Fire. You're really heartless, Pants, y'know that?" He heaved Harry up and steadied him as Harry swayed and looked a little green.

"Ooh, I think 'mgonna-"

"Try an' throw up on me an' I'll hex your mouth shut," Malfoy said sharply. "An' it'll all come out your nose." Harry nodded and held his breath, obviously trying to keep down his dinner.

"Shh. You're alright. C'mon." Malfoy pulled Harry towards their washroom.

"It's a miracle," Parkinson commented quietly to Ron. "I would've thought they'd both land at St. Mungo's Permanent Ninny Ward after the first day."

"They seem to be doing all right," Ron said sceptically.

"Yeah." Parkinson sighed. "God, poor Draco."

"Poor Harry's more like it," Ron said

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Fine, Weasley. I'm not going to argue with you over this at midnight on a Friday night." She went into the washroom, where Harry and Malfoy seemed to be having a bit of trouble finding their toothbrushes.

"Oh Merlin, you're hopeless," she huffed. "Here. Stand still." She waved her wand over them a few times. "Teeth clean, faces scrubbed, what else do you do at night?"

"Potion," Harry nodded at their cabinet. "For him." He started to weave tiredly towards their bed.

"Where?"

"Top'o th'- that's the one," Malfoy pointed.

"Open up," Parkinson said, giving Malfoy a spoonful of the potion. "You take a patience potion, Draco?"

"Look who 'm livin' with," Malfoy mumbled around the spoon. "Could you survive withou' a potions patiens?"

"Hey!"

"Good point," Parkinson said. "All right, let's go," she shooed Malfoy over to the bed and Ron motioned for Harry to make room. Malfoy lay down, closing his eyes.

"Shoes off," Parkinson ordered.

"Go 'way."

Parkinson shrugged and headed towards the door.

"Wait - where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Bed. We've done our part. They can pass out fully dressed if they want to."

"But aren't you nervous that they'll - you know, hurt each other? They're drunk."

"They're almost asleep."

"I still don't trust him. He broke Harry's nose in the Great Hall-"

Parkinson pursed her lips. "It probably escaped your notice that while Draco was breaking Potter's nose, Potter was busy shattering windows right over top of a bunch of first years. It's a miracle nobody got slashed to bits. And I don't know if you noticed, but Draco's also the one with the... interesting patterning down his neck. I'd say he's got a lot more to be nervous about than Potter does." She smirked. "Not that he seems to be complaining."

Ron crossed his arms stubbornly and Parkinson shrugged. "Fine, then. You stay till they're asleep. I'll come by in the morning with hangover potion."

"Fine." Ron settled himself on the sofa as she left the suite. "Harry? You all right?" he called out.

"Jus' fine," Harry answered from the bedroom. "You don' have to stay."

"I'll just stay till you're asleep," he said evenly.

"Malfoy, what're-" Harry's voice cut off abruptly.

"Shh."

Giggle. Rustling.

Ron frowned. "What're you-"

"Shh, I said," Malfoy hissed, so softly Ron could hardly hear him.

"Harry? You all right?" Ron called out suspiciously.

"Y-yeah, Ron, jus'fine-" Harry's voice sounded a little breathless, shaky, as though trying to suppress either laughter or... or something else. Ron scowled. He wouldn't. That miserable ferret, he wouldn't actually be trying anything with Ron's best friend while Ron was in the next room, would he?

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Ron asked evenly.

There was a small pause, then a lazy drawl came floating out of the bedroom. "Well, Weaselby, I could tell you, but I'd  _much_  rather show y-"

"Malfoy!" Harry's voice interrupted him. "Fucking stop that!" There was a small rustle. "Ron's right outside!"

"I didn' ask him to be here."

"He's bein' a friend."

"Being an interferin' prat."

There was a sound of somebody getting up.

"Where're you going?"

"To talk to Ron." Short silence, then a small noise like bedsprings creaking. "No, 'm not angry at you, jus' want to... talk to Ron. Go to sleep." Another short silence. "Well it's not like anything could happen anyway, Malfoy, don' know 'bout you, but this much drink puts me right out for anything-"

"Yeah, alright." Malfoy seemed to roll over in bed.

"You're not angry at me, are you?"

"No, jus' thinking it'd be nice to go to sleep at th' same time. 'Sfine, though. G'night, Weasel," he raised his voice slightly, and Ron forced out a civil goodnight as well.

Harry came out of the bedroom, smiling a little fuzzily.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked nervously, peering at him closely. He seemed OK. Intoxicated and looking extremely tired, but OK.

"Yeah, fine, why?"

"We've all been worried sick about you." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Harry, last we saw, you two nearly killed each other, then we hear you're supposed to be alone together all the time for four days? Wouldn't you be worried?"

"'M fine. We're fine. It's a lot easier, bein' alone with'im."

Ron frowned, utterly baffled. "So... what've you been doing?" Harry's mouth quirked into a sheepish grin and Ron put up his hands hastily. "Er, no, no, scratch that, I really didn't mean to ask that really please don't answer-"

Harry laughed. "No, not  _that_. I mean, not just that. I mean - no, we haven't - but, sort of - erm." He cleared his throat. "And also, just, y'know, just getting to know each other." He yawned. "Ron. Go home. I'm fine."

"I'm a bit nervous leaving you with him when you're both drunk."

Harry chuckled, then shrugged. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'm going to bed."

"Thought you wanted to talk?"

"Too drunk'n'tired t'talk. Sorry, Ron," he turned back to the bedroom, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Huh."

"What?" Ron asked, following him.

"He's right. This'll be the firs' time..." Ron winced, hoping Harry wouldn't reveal anything revolting. "Firs' time we're going to sleep at th' same time since... yeah. Huh."

"Er... yeah," Ron said, totally lost.

"You're a really good friend, Ron," Harry smiled at Ron with boozy sincerity. "I'd give you a hug, but I don' feel like gettin' burned."

"Er... all right." Ron watched worriedly as Harry took off his shirt and shoes and lay down, and Malfoy, already half-asleep, rolled over and embraced him, settling his face into the crook of Harry's neck. Within seconds they were both deeply asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, there's a drawing of a scene in Chapter 7 at
> 
> http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a71/AnnaFugazzi/BondCh7.jpg
> 
> No guarantee of quality here, just doodling.


	8. October 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Kyllikki :)

**Day 26, Saturday**

"-told you, it's nothing-" Malfoy said, and Harry turned around, startled, as the privacy curtain swished open. Pomfrey was staring at Harry, an unreadable expression on her face.

"...yes?" he asked, when she'd been staring at him long enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Madam Pomfrey, it's all right," Malfoy said, coming out from behind the partition, holding his shirt in one hand, extremely annoyed. "He didn't hurt me."

"What?" Harry asked, baffled. "Hurt you?"

"She's 'concerned' about the bruises," Malfoy muttered, annoyed.

"What brui - oh. Oh." Harry felt himself turn crimson. It was amazing, he thought, just when it seemed like their situation couldn't possibly get any more embarrassing, it went and did.

"Yes, oh," Pomfrey said neutrally. "Mr. Malfoy insists that nothing serious happened. Nevertheless, I'm going to call Healer Esposito."

"For a few love-bites??" Malfoy was incredulous.

Harry cringed in his chair. In the bright light of the infirmary, Malfoy's neck did look rather... abused.

"Not just a few love-bites. Your back looks like you went a few rounds with an angry Veela."

"What?" Harry was puzzled. "I didn't scratch his back-"

"Not you, Potter, the bloody tree you were pushing me up against yesterday," Malfoy snapped. "She's got her knickers in a twist because-"

"Because we need to monitor you to make sure you don't hurt each other, Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said brusquely.

"It just got a little rough, that's all, it was all consensual-"

"And if this were an ordinary relationship that might be nobody's business but your own. But with your history, we're a little cautious about letting you two maul one another-"

"He didn't  _maul_  me-"

"I didn't-" Harry began, and Pomfrey gestured to him to come around behind Malfoy. Harry looked at Malfoy's back and gasped.

"Oh my god-" he said. "I'd no idea - Malfoy, why didn't you say-"

"Because I didn't mind, you git. I hardly even felt it. I'm not a  _girl_ , Potter, you don't have to treat me like I'm going to break. Believe me, if I don't like what you're doing, I'll tell you."

"But-"

"I am calling Healer Esposito," Pomfrey said firmly. She started to bustle off, then turned around, obviously not sure she should leave them alone together.

"Oh for god's sake," Malfoy snapped, "we won't jump on each other in the time it takes you to contact the Healer. Look, Potter'll keep his troll-man hands to himself on that bed, and I'll sit here on my tuffet eating curds and whey and stay far away from the big scary Gryffindor."

Harry ducked his head, profoundly embarrassed, as Pomfrey gave them another hard stare and went into her office.

"Merlin, this is ridiculous," Malfoy muttered.

Harry chewed on his lip, wondering if it was actually possible to get sunburn from blushing too hard.

"Oh, bloody hell, Potter, you're not actually thinking - yeah, you are." Malfoy threw his shirt back on and started to button up. "You didn't hurt me, you silly git," he said, exasperated.

"But Pomfrey-"

"Pomfrey's probably not snogged anyone in about a million years," Malfoy sneered. "You think Pansy's never left me with a few mementos? Or Helen, or any of the other girls I-"

"But I, I didn't mean to - but I wanted to hurt you, I was angry at you and I pushed you-"

"And I wanted you to."

Harry recoiled a little, repelled. "You mean, you're into - into that kind of, that, um-"

"That kind of... what?" Malfoy stared at him, puzzled. "You mean... like, pain games?" Harry dropped his eyes again and Malfoy laughed. "You're unbelievable, Potter. This," he gestured at his neck and back, "is not pain games. By any stretch of the imagination. This is just... not holding back, that's all. And we both needed that yesterday."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"We were pretty angry at each other, weren't we? And instead of turning that into a full-blown fight and doing real damage, we had a fantastic almost-shag and I ended up with some scratches that are making our elderly spinster of a school nurse a little nervous."

Put like that, it didn't seem that bad. Harry breathed a little easier.

"She's not elderly," he pointed out fairly.

"Potter." Malfoy put his hand on Harry's leg. "You didn't do anything wrong. Esposito'll probably laugh at Pomfrey for contacting her about it."

**ooooooo**

"I hope she doesn't crash," Harry said as he and Malfoy watched Healer Esposito flying towards them.

Pomfrey had informed them that the Healer would come to see them, but didn't want them to waste the day indoors waiting for her. They'd been told to go about their day as planned. Esposito would know where to meet them from the locating and monitoring charms embedded into the security portkeys they'd been given. And now here she was, a little past lunchtime, flying up to their lookout spot.

Harry closed his textbook, nervous about the Healer's visit and feeling more than a little discomfited by the fact that Pomfrey and Esposito seemed to feel he was a threat to Malfoy. It was a nasty crawling sensation, knowing that somebody thought him dangerous. And wondering if they were right. One of the worst feelings he knew, and one that kept coming up with him, it seemed. Like when he'd wondered if he was the Heir of Slytherin, petrifying Muggle-borns left and right. Or when he'd blown up his aunt. Or when he'd been inside the mind of the snake that almost killed Mr. Weasley. And now, wondering if he was a threat to the person he was bonded to, his tendency to violence now mixed with sex in a rather disturbing way.

It didn't matter much right now that Malfoy, his supposed victim, seemed to see the whole thing as a joke. Considering the kind of behaviour Malfoy and his family saw as acceptable, Harry was starting to find that Malfoy's casual acceptance of Harry's actions didn't mean much to him after all.

"Well," Healer Esposito said as she landed, "that took me back a bit." She climbed off her broom, pink-cheeked. "Every time I fly, I tell myself I need to do it more often. I used to fly every single day when I was a girl. Four years as Seeker, back in my day." She smiled at Malfoy. "And yes, 'back in my day' was a few years after the Dark Ages, Mr. Malfoy," she said good-humouredly. "So this is where you've been spending your days?"

"Yeah, mostly."

"Looks very nice. Good choice, boys." She dropped to the ground, motioning them to sit down as well. "All right. I think it's time we discussed what's going on here," she began seriously.

Malfoy cleared his throat as he sat down. "I told Madam Pomfrey that-"

"No no no," she waved impatiently, "I don't mean the bruises and scratches, though she was quite right to contact me about it. And I would prefer that you don't repeat that kind of thing again any time soon, out of concern for Madam Pomfrey's nerves, if nothing else. But that's not the main reason I came all the way out here."

"Then... what's the reason?" Harry asked, cautiously relieved but still a little nervous.

"Two reasons, actually. It seems that you are getting comfortable with each other, sexually?"

"Er, yeah."

"Excellent. Have you thought about actually having sexual intercourse?"

There was a rather strained silence, during which Harry found himself fascinated by a small ant crawling across his trainer and Malfoy developed a mild obsession with one of his cuticles, before they both shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll take that as an enthusiastic Yes," the Healer said dryly. "Well, that's wonderful and I wish you joy in the discovery of one another and all that, but in light of Madam Pomfrey's reports, I'm going to step in here a bit and do some intrusive interfering. All right?"

They nodded uncertainly.

"The first thing I'm concerned about is this exhaustion you both seem to get right after sexual activity. By your report, it happens every single time, and it's not getting better."

"I... I've had that kind of thing happen before, though-" Malfoy began.

"Every single time?"

"Well, no, but..."

"I'm wondering if there's some sort of energy feedback going on. Because something seems to be... sort of draining both of you."

"What do you mean?"

"You both look much more relaxed than you did a few days ago, but you also look rather tired."

Harry looked at Malfoy, noticing that he did look slightly subdued. Slightly less poised, eyes not quite as keen as usual. He yawned, realizing that he was a bit tired himself.

"Well... that might be because... erm... we're also, um-" he broke off, Malfoy's eyes warning him not to say more.

"If you mean you're both hung over, no, that's not it." They started in surprise. "Yes, we both figured that part out all on our own. Healers tend to notice these things, you know. But I'll wager you've already had hangover potion, and you said you had a good night's sleep last night, and yet you're still feeling as tired as you would near the end of the day. Right?" They nodded uncertainly. "That's worrisome. If sex is what's doing this to you, the simplest suggestion would seem to be to stop having sex, but that really, really wouldn't be a good idea considering what a frustrated bond spell does to people in general and you two in particular." She took out a quill and scroll while she spoke, then set a simple charm on the quill.

"Let's begin. When does the tiredness hit - during, right after orgasm, or a while after orgasm?"

"Right after, mostly..." Harry said, and Malfoy nodded.

"Do you feel upset afterwards?"

"No," they both said.

"How often do you engage in sexual activity in a day?"

"Er..." uncertain glance between them, and Harry guessed "Four or five times?" as Malfoy said, "Three or four, I think."

"Oh to be young again," the Healer sighed. "Three to five times. And I suppose it depends on what you classify as sexual activity," she commented, and went on to the next question. And the next, and the next, until Harry and Malfoy had both moved well beyond embarrassment and into tedium. They were both startled when she abruptly put away her quill and said, "Right. That's that, then."

"That's what?" Malfoy asked.

"That's about all I can think to ask for my first concern. I'll have to prepare a report, though, and I'd like to do it while my mind is still fresh. Why don't you two go flying while I do that, and I'll call you back when I'm ready to discuss the other thing I came here for."

"What?"

"I am going to put together a report," she said, taking out a different quill. "If you don't wish to sit here watching me write, go fly. I've heard your Seeker's Games have become very popular."

"Popular?" Harry frowned.

"Yes, a few students noticed yesterday that you were playing. Two of them were in the hospital being treated for mandrake cry exposure when I went in this morning. They were discussing your games, taking bets on who would win the next match. You've got fans."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a surprised glance. They'd played quite a few times over the last two days, but not for anybody else's benefit. How... flattering, yet unsettling, that they'd been noticed and watched by their fellow students.

"Go. Play a few games. I'll whistle when I'm done, and then we can go on to the other reason I'm here."

"Which is?" Malfoy asked.

"We're going to discuss the immediate future of your sex life in very, very intimate detail. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

**ooooooo**

What a bloody long day, Harry thought as he and Malfoy wearily entered their quarters that night. Between the sessions with Esposito, two sets of Seeker's Games, and the massive amount of reading they'd done, not to mention two furtive yet heated groping sessions at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt like he'd single-handedly slain a couple of acromantulas.

"Potter, not on my desk," Malfoy said tiredly, and Harry picked up the robe he'd just dropped off of Malfoy's desk and draped it over his own.

"I take it we're asking the house elves to bring dinner here?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, I can't do Hogsmeade, sorry," Harry said, going into their washroom. "I'll just - I'll go down to the kitchens, give me a minute." He closed the door, trying to figure out just how much of his fatigue could be explained away as the product of a busy day. Still wondering when he exited the washroom. He stopped, pleasantly surprised at the supper awaiting him in their sitting room.

"Oh. Did you go to the-"

"No, Dobby came in while you were in the washroom," Malfoy said, listlessly cutting into his mincemeat pie.

"Good." Harry sat, digging in, noticing that Malfoy's movements were slow, almost sluggish. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just tired. It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Harry chewed pensively. "What do you think-"

"I think I don't want to think about why I'm tired," Malfoy interrupted him tiredly, and Harry found himself wishing for his normal snapping sarcasm. This oddly subdued Malfoy was a little unsettling. Malfoy glanced up and took in Harry's worried gaze.

"I'd much rather think about the other subject we talked about with Esposito," he said, his mouth quirking slightly in amusement at Harry's automatic gulp.

"Could you believe the... I mean, I... could you believe that?"

"You mean, did I really discuss positions and sex spells and topping and bottoming with a witch old enough to be my grandmother?" Malfoy smirked. "I'd love to believe it was just a figment of my imagination, but then that would mean I came up with all of that on my own and that's even more disturbing."

Harry laughed. "I didn't even know half of what she talked about was possible," he admitted. "I kept wondering if she was making it up."

"You should've seen your face when she suggested we do it in the hospital the first time. You're entirely too gullible, Potter."

Harry chuckled, picking at his food. It had been an interesting discussion, the bizarreness aside. Esposito had a way of making everything sound so matter of fact that it was hard to really remain fully mortified the entire way through. Her sense of humour helped too. And he supposed it was better to have too much information than too little, when it came to maintaining their precarious equilibrium through first-time sexual encounters.

Malfoy idly speared a piece of mincemeat, chewing it pensively. "You know... the tiredness..."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"She said she'd be consulting experts at this kind of thing. But..."

"I know. She's supposed to be the expert."

"Yeah."

"You heard her, though," Harry pointed out. "She's the expert at bonding spells. Not at deliberately miscast spells."

"Yeah."

They half-heartedly ate in silence. "Which makes this totally different, doesn't it?" Harry said finally. "If that's what it is."

"Bad enough to think we were cursed by an amateur. The alternative, though..."

"Is that it was miscast on purpose." Harry paused. "Why would anybody do that, though?"

"And why to us?"

"We don't know it was directed at us," Harry said. "Just whoever happened to walk past that door arguing."

"There were only seven of us there that day, and everybody got along except you and me."

"But-"

"The announcement about that meeting was public knowledge. The new Quidditch regulation was front-page news on the Prophet, everybody knew that all the Captains and Seekers were going to have to meet to discuss it with Madam Hooch..."

Seven of them at the meeting. Himself and Malfoy, there as both Captains and Seekers. The Captains and Seekers of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Madam Hooch. And all, as Malfoy had said, got along reasonably well, except for the two of them, mostly because Malfoy couldn't be bothered to argue with anybody but Harry in that group. And they had been the only ones with fixed and passionate opinions on how the new regulation should be carried out at Hogwarts; the others at the meeting had been pretty blasé about the whole topic.

Harry suddenly realized he had no idea what had been decided in the end. They'd gotten into an argument and started to walk out in the middle of the meeting... and the rest was history.

And the classroom they'd used was in an almost completely unused section of the castle. It wouldn't have been difficult to rig the door just for them.

"You really think it was directed at us?" Harry said sceptically.

"Why not?"

"That's a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"You're not paranoid if people really are out to get you, Potter; you of all people should know that."

"Who would've wanted to?"

"We've both got enemies."

"But not the same ones. Who would want to take both of us down at the same time?"

"I don't know," Malfoy sighed dispiritedly.

They picked at their food a while longer until Malfoy finally set down his fork.

"I can't eat any more. I'm going to bed."

Harry nodded, idly pushing his pie around his plate as Malfoy went to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

"Potter? Are you coming?" Malfoy said quietly from their bedroom door.

Harry looked up at him. Something indefinable glimmered in Malfoy's eyes behind his weariness. At once casual and hesitant. Almost... vulnerable.

Harry held Malfoy's gaze, thinking. Ever since their attraction had begun the second time, without discussing it they had stopped going to bed at the same time. Neither had wanted to lie chastely next to the other until sleep claimed them, or try to only go so far but no farther. So they'd taken turns; one of them would lie down while the other one studied, and the second would go to bed after the first was safely asleep. Except for the previous night, when they'd been much too drunk for much to happen between them, Malfoy's teasing of Ron aside.

Tonight, though... tonight there was nothing else. Just them. No alcohol, no friends, no quick and easy excuse to avoid intimacy if they wanted to.

And there was no reason to. Nobody would pressure him into anything he wasn't ready for; he'd finally accepted that.

Not taking his eyes off Malfoy, Harry rose and joined him at their bedroom door, leaning in for a kiss for a moment before Malfoy pushed him away and towards the washroom. He went in, letting the mechanical acts of his night-time routine clear away worries about their bond, the tiredness the Healer was worried about, the fact that they had one more day before returning to their regular lives with all the pressures of school and Slytherins and Snape and their own personalities...

This wasn't the time to deal with any of that.

Malfoy had already stripped down to t-shirt and pants by the time Harry was done, and was sitting on the bed waiting for him, silently watching Harry as he took off his own shirt and trousers. He reached out to Harry, taking his hand, lying back and pulling Harry down with him.

This was so much more pleasant than talking and letting down emotional barriers, thought Harry as he leaned over Malfoy and their lips met. This kind of barrier was much easier to let down, and felt a lot better once it was gone.

Harry closed his eyes as Malfoy mouthed along his jaw, smiling slightly as Malfoy whispered, "Don't worry, no teeth-" before licking the edge of his ear and sending shivers running down Harry's back. He arched into Malfoy's touch, slipping his hands under Malfoy's t-shirt. Malfoy sat up long enough to wriggle out of his t-shirt altogether, and tugged at Harry's shirt too. Harry hesitated a second, then took it off and they returned to each other's mouths.

Mm, this was nice, Harry thought, turning over and pulling Malfoy with him, noting that although the last time he'd done this he'd become a little nervous at Malfoy looming over him, this time he was just fine with the whole idea. In fact, he wanted to feel his whole body, and he tugged Malfoy on top of him. Malfoy gently nudged Harry's thighs with one knee, and Harry obligingly parted them and threw his head back, a contented sigh escaping him as Malfoy settled on top of him, their erections pressed against each other, their mouths seeking each other once more.

Oh, yeah. Very nice. He moved his hips a little, craving more friction, more intense pressure, and felt Malfoy's breath catch. And then Malfoy rolled them so that they were on their sides, facing each other, and slowly brought his hand down to Harry's pants. Harry smiled, reaching for Malfoy as well, their hands slipping in past their waist bands, fingers running lightly up and down, teasing each other.

"Hang on," Harry murmured, irritated at the tightness of Malfoy's drawstrings against his wrist. "Do you mind just taking it off?"

Malfoy's quick breathless laugh shook through both of them. "Do I mind taking this off so you can give me a better hand job? Let me think about that," he said as he hastily removed his underwear, grinning as Harry did the same, and their mouths met in a deep kiss.

They were completely naked, Harry realized, and yet it didn't feel strange at all. It felt totally natural and rather amazing, actually. He lightly caressed Malfoy's back, grinning at the shiver that ran over Malfoy's body, then moaned into his mouth as Malfoy grasped him more firmly.

"No tree bark either, isn't that nice?" Malfoy murmured into Harry's neck, and they laughed. Malfoy gasped a bit as Harry's grip grew firmer and faster.

"Oh, yeah, little faster-" he managed to say, seeming to lose track of what he was doing. Harry nipped his ear lightly, and Malfoy started.

"Remember me?" Harry said, and nodded down at his own neglected erection.

"Don't bite, you'll scare Madam Pomfrey," Malfoy whispered, moving again. "I - oh-" and whatever else he'd started to say was forgotten as he bit his lip and arched his back, losing himself in Harry's movements. They thrust into each other's hands eagerly, and there were no more words as they strained towards completion.

"Oh god-" Malfoy said quietly, and came in Harry's hand. Harry waited impatiently for Malfoy to recover enough to finish him off, unable to suppress a small whimper as he started to move again.

"Yes - oh, oh, yeah, that's-" and it was remarkable how impossible it was to even think of words, when the world crashed over him in such a deeply satisfying way. He held on to Malfoy tightly as they both came down.

"Bloody hell," he said softly, feeling lassitude seep into every fibre of his being and sleep rushing to overtake him.

"It's - yeah, it's too much," Malfoy said slowly. He sighed. "This... we're in trouble. The spell's making us weaken right after."

"Yeah. Can't do much about it though," Harry mumbled, as consciousness slipped away from him. "Pomfrey'll figure it out."

"Good thing we're already in bed."

"Yeah..."

And he felt sleep take him as Malfoy drowsily murmured the cleaning spell.


	9. October 26 - October 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kyllikki for awesome beta :)
> 
> By the way, colour me amazed, but this thing was nominated for an award at Forbidden Desires, http://forbidden.fornever.org/. Y'all should go - not necessarily for this fic, which is up against fics like Underwater Light and Surrender the Grey and thus has, like, nochance of winning - but because there are links to a whooole bunch of really cool H/D fics there. It's my second home at the moment - shh, please don't tell my RL ;)

  
**Day 28, Monday**

"You've spilled juice on your tie," Draco said as he finished putting his books into his bag.

"Oh - thanks," Potter waved his wand quickly and cleaned his tie, not pausing in his search through his desk. "Have you seen my inkwell?"

"No idea. Have you seen my tie?" Draco asked, and Potter thought for a moment before pointing to the sofa in the sitting room. "Thanks."

"Ready?" Potter asked quietly a moment later, having evidently located his inkwell.

"Yeah. Let's go." They headed out and nodded a quick thanks to Sir Xander as he wished them well. They walked in silence down the long empty seventh-floor corridor. Draco paused at the top of the staircase.

"Did you forget something?" Potter asked, and Draco shook his head. Not knowing how to say what he felt, not knowing why he was stopping at the top of the stairs.

It didn't matter, he told himself. There was no need to mark the fact that once they went down those steps, they were effectively re-entering the outside world and no longer in this odd semi-solitary confinement that had seemed so dreadful an idea four days ago but had ended up as a sort of... well, there was that stupid word again, 'honeymoon', for lack of a better term...

"No, let's go," he said brusquely, starting down the steps. Stopped as Potter put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes?" he looked up at Potter.

Potter's eyes were veiled, his expression impossible to decipher. Draco waited for him to speak, and was about to say something when Potter stepped closer, gently tilted Draco's chin up, and took his mouth in a long, slow kiss. Draco closed his eyes and surrendered to the kiss willingly for a few moments before reluctantly drawing back.

"Er, bad idea, Potter, we've got Potions, remember?" he said, a little breathlessly. "I really don't feel like coming in late our first day back."

Potter smiled. "I know. I just - it just seems like - like we-"

"Yeah. I - I know," Draco said quickly. "Me too. But - don't. Just don't." Potter nodded, running a hand through his hair and starting down the stairs, and Draco reflected that that little exchange hadn't made any kind of sense.

But he didn't want to know if they'd been speaking about the same thing at all. Because he suspected they had.

**ooooooo**

"I've got notes for you for Thursday and Friday," Pansy said as they made their way into the half-empty Potions classroom, and Draco nodded.

"Great, thanks." He busied himself setting up his text and quills and ink, then looked over the scrolls of notes from Pansy, grateful for the excuse to not engage in conversation with anybody as the room filled.

"Turn to page 394," Snape said, stalking into the classroom, and anything else Pansy - or anybody else - might have wanted to say was thankfully squelched by his entry.

Good thing, too, because Draco was feeling a lot more uneasy about this than he'd anticipated. Somehow he hadn't realized how odd it would be to return from their suspension as though nothing had really changed, when it had. He and Potter were sitting with the same people, in the same classroom, same teacher, same subject - but they themselves were different. Far more so than the day they'd walked back in here newly bonded, because then there was nothing but a spell between them.

Not a good topic to be thinking of, he told himself firmly, and busied himself trying to follow Snape's lecture. It seemed they were past the anti-flu potions and were now deep into potions meant to produce sensory illusions. Which were quite fascinating. He'd read up on the topic on his own over the summer, but hadn't realized they'd be working on it in class this year.

Potter yawned and Draco glanced at him. "You all right?" he murmured.

"Yeah, just bored," Potter murmured back, running a hand through his messy hair. "And lost."

"Don't worry about the theory part, we can go over that tonight," Draco said. "Just concentrate on the properties of the ingredients."

Potter nodded absently, scratching out part of his notes and listening with renewed attention to what Snape was currently saying. Draco went to fill his quill again, catching an odd exchange of looks between Pansy and Blaise.

"What?" he whispered to Pansy. She shook her head, squinting at the board.

"And why is it imperative to stir counter-clockwise in this particular manner... anyone?" Snape didn't even bother to look away from Granger as she stuck her hand in the air and waited. "Anyone?" He paused. "Potter?"

Draco suppressed an impatient snort. First day back, of course Snape had to pick on Potter. Perfect opportunity to humiliate him, and of course Potter immediately got tense. He touched Potter's arm lightly and projected calm and Potter glanced at him quickly before frowning in concentration at the notes on the board.

"Because..." he said slowly, figuring his way through the question. "If you don't, the venom destroys the hawthorne... and then the potion can't induce the auditory illusion because the fairy magic animating it is destroyed."

There was a profound silence.

Snape's eyes flickered between Potter and Draco, his face unreadable.

"Yes," he said, and turned back to the board, continuing his lecture.

"Draco..." Pansy's voice was uncharacteristically very soft and she didn't look up from her notes. "Watch yourself."

Draco, after a startled moment, removed his hand from Potter's arm and continued taking notes. Moved his leg to rest against Potter's under their desks, hooking his ankle around Potter's, not meeting Potter's questioning gaze.

**ooooooo**

"This is not good," Potter whispered into Draco's neck. They were both trying to remain upright and awake and hoping nobody came into the unused classroom they'd ducked into after Transfiguration, where they'd had a somewhat frantic groping session that had resulted in this current lethargy.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall, every impulse he had telling him to just slide down the wall with Potter and close his eyes and give in. "We'll be completely useless during Charms too," he said, clumsily taking out his wand and trying to remember the cleaning spell.

"We'd be useless anyway, two classes is too long, I can't concentrate when you're - when, um..." Potter's eyes were closing of their own accord even as Draco spelled both of them clean.

"No, don't go to sleep-" he poked Potter with his wand.

"No, I won't, just - I'm tired."

"We'll need to ask Pomfrey for Pepper-up."

Potter sighed wearily. "And what if she says we shouldn't risk it reacting with the fucking bond?"

"Potter, we can't go to classes like this. We've even missed lunch."

"I wasn't hungry anyway. And we'll go back to our room as soon as class is over."

"I thought you wanted to go back to the Tower."

"I did... I do. But let's have a nap or something before going there."

"Right." Draco fought to keep his eyes open. A nap sounded like heaven right about now.

"Actually..." Potter trailed off and Draco was about to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep standing up when he spoke up again. "I think..." he said slowly, "I think we should go to Slytherin tonight."

That woke Draco up. "Are you insane?"

"You've been away for a month," Potter pointed out, face still buried against Draco's neck.

"And?"

"And I know how your social status is doing among the Slytherins. You're in danger of losing it."

Draco leaned back again and closed his eyes. Yes, he was. He'd been away too long. He wasn't there to keep his place in the hierarchy, play the games, and now... getting along with Potter was the only way to survive this bond but unless he did something to counterbalance it, his new and improved relationship with his spouse was going to sink him as far as his survival as a Slytherin player. And thereby weaken his family even more.

"Why do you care?"

"What?"

"Me losing face with the Slytherins, my family losing standing... that can only be good for... for what you're supposed to believe in."

Just like that, there it was, the thing they really couldn't talk about. Potter bit his lip, straightening up, and refused to meet Draco's eyes. There was a very long, strained silence.

"It won't help me any if you get upset because your house mates start to shut you out," he finally said brusquely, then checked his watch. "We've got to get to Charms." He slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and tugged Draco away from the wall. Draco wearily picked up his own schoolbag and headed for the door behind him.

**ooooooo**

"Gryffindor for break?" Weasley asked, falling in with the students leaving Arithmancy a few hours later.

"What?" Potter blinked, fighting exhaustion.

"You've got a double break before Astronomy. Are you coming to the common room?"

"Oh - no, I think-" Potter glanced at Draco. "I think we're going to... er... go to our room. I'll see you at Astronomy."

Behind them, Theodore Nott smirked and walked a little closer to Draco. "You little devil, you," he said, low enough for only Draco to hear him. "Sneaking off to shag twice in one day. Your little holiday convinced him of your charms and now he's gagging for it all the time, is he?"

Draco almost stumbled as a totally unexpected surge of indignation shot through him. He bit his lip to keep from snapping at Nott, opting instead for what he hoped was a casual tone. "We just have schoolwork to catch up on."

"Oh, is he still putting up a fight?" Nott smiled nastily. "Malfoy, do you have any idea how much money was riding on you deflowering Potter before coming back to classes? Blaise will shit."

"Nott-"

"Maybe Draco's just exhausted him," Millicent said slyly as she and Pansy joined them. The group halted as a large group of first-years filed past behind Madam Hooch.

"No need to ask where you put your bet, Bulstrode," Nott said, and Potter and his friends turned around curiously. Draco shook his head at Potter, motioning for him to turn around again and pay no attention to the Slytherins.

"Fine, let's see who's won, then." Nott took out his wand and pointed it at Potter. "Virgo Acclaro," he said, and laughed as Potter's face lit up with a faint blue light.

"What are-" "Nott!" "Bloody hell!" Potter and his friends spoke over each other.

"I told you, Bulstrode," Nott shook his head in mock sympathy. "Potter's a stubborn little blighter-"

Harry lunged towards Nott and Draco grabbed and forcefully pulled him back, whipping around and glaring at Nott. "Nott, what the fuck is that??" he demanded.

"Self-evident, I'd think. Virgo Acclaro," he pointed at Draco before Draco could duck, and Draco felt an odd tingling and the world around him turned faintly reddish. "Pathetic baby blue for little virgins and nice earthy red for real men." The first years had all passed by but nobody was moving, the seventh-year students standing gaping at Draco, Potter and Nott.

"Nott," Pansy snarled, "you've got all the subtlety of a knee in the groin, which is what you're going to get if-"

"Oh, you're right, and it's not sporting to single these two out. Why don't I just-" Nott quickly waved his wand in an expansive circle and muttered a few more words, ending in Virgo Acclaro, and laughed as the faces of all the students started to glow amid exclamations of dismay and anger. Draco quickly glanced around, curious despite his indignation. Interesting. Goyle, Millicent, Ernie Macmillan and, surprisingly, Parvati Patil, were all glowing blue. Nott, Pansy, Crabbe, Susan Bones, Padma Patil, Granger, Weasley and, inexplicably, Neville Longbottom, were glowing red. And Draco wasn't the only one checking everybody's faces.

"Nott!!" about ten different voices spoke angrily and several wands came out to point at him.

"Finite incantatum," Nott said quickly. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief, and a few very curious looks went around the group. "It did decide today's bet status though, didn't it?"

Draco took a deep breath, ready to tear a strip out of Nott - then felt Potter's hand on his shoulder and Potter hauling him back urgently. "Don't," Potter whispered fiercely into his ear. "Don't. Walk away. Please. Just walk away."

He swallowed, a million different thoughts and impulses flying through him. How  _dare_  Nott - what the hell business was it of his - what did it matter whether - who the  _hell_  did he think he - and then Potter's words from a few hours ago echoed through him as well. "And I know how your social status is doing among the Slytherins. You're in danger of losing it."

He shook Potter's hand off and stepped away from him, and glared at Nott. "Try that shit again," he said coldly, "and I'll set a couple of revealing charms on you that you won't forget. There's a few things about third year I haven't forgotten yet," he said menacingly, and had the distinct satisfaction of seeing Nott blanch a little. He turned away from Nott and stalked off, Potter following close behind him.

"Malfoy?" Potter said cautiously as they got to their floor.

"What??"

"Malfoy, he's not worth it-"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped, almost walking right past Sir Xander. "Hades!" he barked, and Sir Xander hastily swung open. They stepped through and Draco threw his schoolbag onto the floor.

"Malfoy, get a grip!" Potter said. Draco whipped around.

"Don't tell me to get a grip!"

Potter backed away, his hands up. "He was doing it to embarrass me, not you, you git. And judging from the reactions of the rest of the people there, he didn't make a lot of friends spreading the spell around either. I thought Bulstrode was going to burst into flame."

Draco laughed, unexpectedly. Millicent's expression had been pretty priceless. Potter came closer. "Malfoy, he's not worth getting upset about."

"That's not - it wasn't just aimed at you, you don't understand-"

"Yeah, I know, it was also meant to make you look like you can't do the simplest thing like consummate your own bloody marriage. But honestly, I don't think that's what most people will remember, after what he did at the end."

Draco let himself sink down into one of their armchairs and lay his head back against the headrest, aggression draining out of him. Potter tossed his own schoolbag down and sank down into the chair next to him.

"Still think we should go to Slytherin tonight?" Draco asked dryly.

"Yeah."

Draco turned to Potter incredulously. "Fancy walking around with your face blue all the time, do you?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm getting pretty thick-skinned about Slytherin mockery, for some reason. And what I said before still stands. Even more after Nott's performance, and you know it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Now, are we here to talk about housing and Theodore Nott, or are we going to take advantage of our privacy? Because if so we may as well get on with it, or we'll be useless at Astronomy."

Draco laughed again, his mood inexplicably lifting, and then Potter was suddenly on his lap and latching onto his mouth. "Fuck, Potter!" he managed breathlessly between kisses. "You're all subtlety and romance today, aren't you?"

"No time for either right now," Potter said tersely, and started unbuttoning Draco's clothing. Draco decided he had a point and hastened to help.

**ooooooo**

"You're... you're going to Slytherin?" Weasley repeated Potter's words at dinner time, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yeah," Potter said nonchalantly. "We'll probably be back in a few days, but it's only fair - he's been away from Slytherin for a long time."

"He didn't seem that broken up about it before. And I'm surprised he wants to go, after what happened with Nott today."

Draco leaned forward so he could see Weasley around Potter. "Weasley, I'm reading at the dinner table because none of you have anything remotely interesting to say, but I haven't actually done a silencing spell."

Weasley started, and frowned at Harry. "Did you know?"

"What?" Potter asked irritably.

"That he hadn't done the spell?"

"I'm not his bloody keeper, Ron," he muttered, pushing his dinner around his plate some more. "And he's being polite to you by letting you know he can hear you. You might want to say thank you." He put down his fork and rubbed his eyes.

Weasley's eyebrows climbed a little higher and he exchanged a look with Granger, sitting across the table from them, but he cleared his throat and, with an air of humouring the slightly confused, leaned forward. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Harry?" Granger said cautiously. "Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. Fine."

Granger peered from Potter to Draco and back. "You haven't eaten much." She hesitated. "Either one of you. And you both look rather tired."

"Long day," Potter said curtly. "And it's going to get longer, we both have a lot of catching up to do." He started to get up. Draco gave his unappetizing stew one last perfunctory stab, closed his book and followed suit.

"Did you want to go over the Arithmancy-" she began.

"Tomorrow, Hermione," Potter snapped tiredly, then caught himself. "Tomorrow, all right?" he repeated, in a slightly more polite tone.

"All right..." Granger trailed off, looking at them worriedly as they left.

"Does she always do the mother hen business?" Draco muttered.

"Yeah, she does," Potter said absently. "Lucky you, now she's doing it to you too."

"I don't need a Mudblood-" Draco started to say, then blew out his breath at Potter's pained glance. "Oh excuse me,  _Muggle_ _-born_  know-it-all nosing about my health, thanks."

"It's how she shows affection."

Draco grimaced. "You're right, we do need to go to Slytherin, if Hermione Granger is taking a shine to me. How disturbing."

**ooooooo**

"Draco? Oh my god - Draco!!" Pansy screamed as he and Potter stepped into the Slytherin common room. All conversation came to a complete stop as Pansy flew across the room and skidded to a stop in front of him, shouting "Fuck this fucking curse! I'd hang off your neck for about an hour if I wasn't afraid of landing you in the hospital with fucking burns!" and Draco burst out laughing.

"No I think Madam Pomfrey's seen enough of me lately," he said, and the common room came to life again, laughter and conversation erupting all over the room. Draco was mobbed by a rush of Slytherins welcoming him back and he accepted their greetings graciously, making sure to note those who hung back - and let them see that he was noticing them. A few, like Theodore Nott, merely stared back at him. He was pleased to note that most of them pasted on smiles and hastened towards him instead.

"Look, right, I'm happy to be back, but I've got to put my things down," he said after a few minutes, and turned to Potter, who had been mostly rather pointedly ungreeted thus far. "Come on," he nodded towards the dorms, and Potter followed him silently.

"Not quite like Gryffindor, is it?" he murmured to Potter once they were in the dorm room.

"Didn't expect it to be."

"Good." He put his things into the trunk at the foot of his bed, straightened up. "Ready to go back in?"

"Yeah, no problem," Potter said lightly, grabbing his wand and his Astronomy textbook.

"Draco?" Pansy called out. "We've got butterbeer!"

"Coming," Draco said, and rejoined his friends, taking a seat near the fire and making room for Potter next to him. Potter nodded briefly to the few people who bothered to look at him, tucked himself into the corner of the couch, and spelled himself into a silent bubble.

"So why isn't Potter whining about missing his little friends?" Blaise said, glancing at Potter disparagingly.

"Don't know, don't care," Draco shrugged, and quickly changed the subject, falling into the rhythm of his common room far more easily than he would have suspected.

Such a relief, being among his own people again. Not that the Gryffindors had been that unpleasant, but it hadn't been the same. Only seeing Slytherins in class and at the Great Hall for so long... he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed them.

This was wonderful. And so much fun, playing the games, figuring out who was doing what, who wanted or needed what, competing for power and status. Also a little scary, seeing just how out of the loop he was. For example, when had Queenie and Nott become an item? And how long had Crabbe and Goyle been hanging around with Millicent? Those two were hopeless, really. Latching on to Millicent Bulstrode. Yes, she had a forceful personality. She also had all the elegance, subtlety, and people skills of a mallet. It seemed that without Draco's leadership, Crabbe and Goyle were utterly lost.

"The Sorting Hat's not joking about the bravery of Gryffindors, is it?" Blaise said some hours later, nudging Millicent. Draco glanced at Potter as Blaise added, "Brave, but remarkably stupid."

Draco bit his lip, caught between various immediate reactions: laughter, alarm, exasperation, and a grudging... affection, for lack of a better word. Because Potter had fallen asleep. In the middle of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by seventy hostile students, most of whom hated him on house principle and many of whom hated him as a personal preference or political necessity, he was deeply asleep, still neatly tucked into a corner of the couch, his Astronomy book discarded by his side.

"Merlin, Potter," Draco snickered and shook his head, deciding that amused condescension was probably the wisest reaction in public right now. He took Potter's book and marked his place but decided to leave his glasses in place.

"Not clever, are they?" Nott remarked. "I mean, really. Falling asleep? Here? We could do anything to him. Here, shove over, Malfoy-"

"He's not quite that stupid," Draco said lightly, fixing Nott with a pleasant smile. "He knows I won't let anything happen to him. Never underestimate your enemy, Nott."

There was a rather charged silence.

"Nott tends to do that a fair bit," Pansy smiled maliciously. "Runs in the family, I've heard."

Draco suppressed the urge to wince. None of them was above using whatever they could against each other, and this wasn't the first time Pansy had used Nott's unfortunate family circumstances to taunt Nott, but Pansy had no idea just how hurtful it was to be reminded that your father was in Azkaban. Thanking his stars that Father wasn't there any more, and that Pansy was on his side, he turned a bland face towards Nott, who had flushed and then gone white with fury.

"You all right, Nott?" he said innocently.

"Fine," Nott bit out.

"I'm telling you, Bryant's actually worse than Weasley when he first started as Keeper, it's unbelievable," Blaise said loudly, apparently picking up a conversation he'd been having with Millicent, who followed his lead almost smoothly.

"Er - yeah, the rest of the Ravenclaw team's not bad though," she said. "We'll be lucky to beat them, their Seeker's got ours beat by a mile," her mouth twisted in disgust. "We're totally lost without you this year, Draco."

Draco frowned, not sure how to take that last remark. On the one hand, it pointed out that he was a damn good Seeker and was sorely missed. On the other hand, it certainly reminded everyone that he couldn't play this year, and why.

Then again, when the reason he couldn't play was sleeping right next to him, he supposed there wasn't much that wouldn't remind the rest of them of the fact. And Millicent really wasn't devious enough to do backhanded compliments.

"Yeah, thanks, don't remind me," he said breezily.

"You should do more Seeker's Games," Pansy said. "They got very popular over the weekend. Made the Gryffindors see red, it did, to see that with no team behind him, you're more than a match for their precious little Potter. We cleaned up thanks to you."

"Why'd you switch to five-game sets, though?" Blaise asked. "You were doing seven-game on Saturday."

"Too much bloody homework," Draco said wryly. "I'm still so far behind it's not even funny. As a matter of fact," he checked the time, thankful it was decently late, at last, "I'm going to have to wake up Sleeping Beauty and go study. I know," he held up his hands as his friends protested, "but I've been off for four days and I've got to catch up some time." He shook Potter's shoulder. "Potter."

"Mhm - wha?" Potter jerked awake, a little disoriented.

"Trusting soul, aren't you?" Draco said, and his friends tittered. "Get up. I'm going up to study." He projected calm at Potter, still holding on to his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't act too daft.

"Right." Potter sat up, only slightly flustered, and looked for his Astronomy book.

"I've got it. Come on, let's go." Draco waved good night to his house mates and started down the hall to the dorm.

"Malfoy?" Potter said blurrily. "You all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You feel really tired. I mean, you know, through the bond-"

"Washroom's this way," Draco interrupted him, and led him in. He leaned close as they took out their toothbrushes and started to get ready for bed. "I'm fucking exhausted, but we're in the dungeon, can you try to remember that?" he whispered. Potter's eyes widened slightly and he nodded quickly.

"Right. Sorry, forgot."

"Don't."

"I'm sorry, all right? I just woke up."

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the energy he'd been using to keep up with his housemates seeping away inexorably.

"Malfoy, forget studying, you're going to have to go to sleep as soon as-"

"I wasn't really going to study, you twit. I just said that to get away. Come on." They entered the boys' dorm room and almost fell into the bed, drawing the curtains and setting the privacy spell on them. Draco closed his eyes thankfully, disturbed by just how drained he felt.

"Malfoy?"

" _What?_ "

"I'll take that as a no."

"To what?"

"To whether you wanted to... er... you know..."

"You must be joking."

"I had a nap," Potter said apologetically.

"I didn't."

"I know..."

Draco sighed as he realized that at least one part of his body hadn't received the owl about just how wiped out he was. "You know it's a bloody good thing you didn't get bonded to a girl," he muttered, turning towards Potter. "'Whether you wanted to, er, you know' - that's smashingly romantic."

"You're the one who made fun of marriage being romantic."

"Maybe you've corrupted me," he said, failing to suppress a yawn.

"And maybe you've corrupted me. Because right now I'd very much like a hand job, thanks, and I don't much care to butter you up in order to get it."

Draco snickered, picked up his wand, and muttered a few spells at the curtains.

"What are you doing?"

"You don't think I'll trust the flimsy standard privacy spell, do you? Now, about that hand job," he yawned hugely. "You take my clothes off and I'll pay you back."

"Right, then," Potter hastily removed Draco's clothing as well as his own, with all the coy seductiveness that normally went into stripping for a medical examination, and immediately started kissing and fondling Draco.

"Charming," Draco gasped as they stroked each other. "You'd never know you glow blue under that stupid spell." He tossed his head back. "Mind you, I'm - oh... I'm not complaining. Not at all. You just didn't seem this... efficient during our suspension - ah-"

Potter gave a shaky laugh - and then a bright orange light and a muffled scream made them both jump.

"What the-"

Draco laughed. "It's good to be home," he said fondly.

"What was that?"

"Whoever has the words Pervy Voyeur on his forehead tomorrow? That's who just tried to undo our privacy spell."

Potter looked at him askance. "How can you live with these people?"

"They keep you on your toes," Draco said absently, pulling Potter close again. "Potter, I don't much want to talk about them right now."

"No, neither do I," Potter said hastily, and they picked up where they'd left off and finished fairly quickly.

Draco felt the now-familiar flood of lethargy and was about to fall into it unprotesting when Potter cleared his throat.

"Oh, what now?"

"Nothing." Potter was silent for a moment, then blurted out, "Does it bother you, that we still haven't... you know, that I still glow blue?"

"Not right now, it doesn't," Draco yawned. He rolled over and took Potter into his arms, sleepily running a hand through Potter's messy hair. "Really, Potter, can't we talk about this tomorrow?"

"Um. Yeah," Potter said, and pillowed his face on Draco's shoulder.

"Good night, Potter," Draco said, and gave in to the darkness.

**ooooooo**

**Day 29, Tuesday**

"That's  _lovely_ , Blaise," Malfoy laughed the next day as he and Harry emerged from behind their curtain. Blaise threw him a dirty look as Crabbe and Goyle guffawed appreciatively.

"Very funny, Draco. Mind taking it off?"

"Oh no, it looks dashing. Think of it as advertising. Exhibitionist girls are going to flock to you in droves." Malfoy and Harry headed for the washrooms and Blaise stood at the door to block them.

"Come on, Draco, please. You'd've done the same thing and you know it."

"Probably."

"Look, I'll do your Transfiguration essay for you-"

"Please. I could do that one in my sleep," Malfoy said, and Harry rolled his eyes as they fell into serious bargaining.

"Malfoy," he broke in, "do you mind doing this in the washroom so we don't show up late to Transfiguration?"

"Yeah, all right," Malfoy said, and they drifted into the washroom, still talking.

It was fascinating to watch the interactions here, Harry thought as he got ready for school while Malfoy and Blaise argued over how much Blaise was willing to pay for the removal of the 'Pervy Voyeur' mark. Everything was so calculated. Not a single move was made without weighing the social ramifications. No honest and spontaneous interactions among friends, like in Gryffindor.

And Malfoy was completely in his element here. If Harry hadn't seen him with barriers lowered during their suspension, he would've sworn that this was the only way he could be. And if he hadn't had their bond to give him a clue as to Malfoy's true feelings, he would've sworn that whatever showed on his face was genuine. That his calm look of condescension towards Nott this morning was for real, and didn't mask a fair bit of trepidation. That his smooth takeover of Goyle and Crabbe didn't carry with it grim determination to bring them to heel quickly and completely and publicly, to show the rest of the Slytherins that although Crabbe and Goyle might have drifted to Millicent Bulstrode's side during his absence, they were his minions and not hers.

He would've even thought, without a bond, that when Harry's face turned blue again in the common room, that it really didn't bother Malfoy at all.

"That's a good colour on you, Potter," he laughed. "Goes well with your eyes." He glanced around the common room, where a dozen students of all ages were moving about getting ready for breakfast and commenting on Harry's glowing face, and cleared his throat, expecting, and getting, the undivided attention of every student in the room.

He looked around one more time and sighed with mock disappointment. "Too bad. Nott's nowhere to be found, so I suppose I can't pin this one on him." The others laughed appreciatively. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we?" He smiled sunnily at the room in general. "Any time Potter gets that lovely tinge to him, I will personally Virgo Acclaro everyone within reach. So don't use the spell unless you don't mind announcing your sexual status - and that of all your friends - to the world. Are we clear?"

It really looked like he was merely amused and going along with the regular Slytherin power plays. Nobody else could tell that Malfoy was seething, and it wasn't all based on the damage to his reputation. A part of him was, as far as Harry could tell, genuinely angry at the thought of somebody trying to make Harry look like a fool.

When had that happened? When had they become close enough that Malfoy would feel like that about Harry? Like Harry himself mattered, and not just because he reflected on Malfoy? For that matter, when had they become close enough that Malfoy would trust Harry with things he didn't tell his house mates? That Malfoy would consciously be different with Harry than with the outside world?

When had they become a couple?

**ooooooo**

"Harry," Hermione murmured into Harry's ear during Gryffindor Herbology class. "Is he all right?"

Harry blearily turned towards Malfoy to find that he was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms, his quill about to drop from his lax fingers. Harry smiled tiredly, taking Malfoy's quill and placing it neatly into his inkwell.

"What's wrong with him?" she murmured worriedly.

"He's just tired." Harry took a thick textbook from his schoolbag and carefully placed it under Malfoy's arms so that he wouldn't feel too uncomfortable when he awoke, and, without being conscious of it, stroked his hair off his forehead.

"He never falls asleep in class," Hermione said. "He's too tired. And so are you," she said accusingly. "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Harry," Ron whispered from the other side. "What's wrong? Why do both of you look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time?"

"We're fine."

"Harry-"

"Look, I can't tell you, all right? Not without talking to him about it first."

"Why not?"

"Married, remember?" Harry snapped tiredly. "I owe him a bit of discretion. He's not exactly your biggest fan; he probably wouldn't be terribly happy if I starting telling you all about our private life."

"You're keeping secrets from us because of him?" Hermione said slowly.

"No, it's not - that doesn't-" Harry stopped. "Yeah, I am."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"Look, I'm the one who has to live with him. That's part of why were away for four days, remember? So we could learn to live together without killing each other. And if that means I have to keep some things from you, that's the way it has to be. You're my best friends, but he's my - spouse. I didn't ask for this and I'm not happy with it, but I have to side with him once in a while. Sorry."

"But-"

"And he'd do the same for me."

"Somehow I doubt that, Harry," Ron said bluntly.

"You don't-"

"If you mean things like casting that stupid spell on the whole room during Arithmancy today when somebody did it to you-" Hermione began.

"Yeah, things like that. And like not letting anybody do anything to me when I fell asleep in the Slytherin common room yesterday."

"You fell asleep in the Slytherin common room?" Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"I was tired-"

"But why?"

"And why - you don't have to spend all your free time with him, Harry," Hermione said. "Nobody's expecting you to-"

"I'm not spending all my free time-"

"We only ever see you in class any more," she said. "You keep disappearing in between - you don't even have meals in the Great Hall since you came back."

"Everybody wants to know where you're disappearing to," Ron said.

"Our room, all right? We go to our room to - you know, because it's bloody impossible to concentrate if we don't all day long. And I really wish people would stop asking things like that like they have every right to meddle." He bit his tongue, hoping that hadn't come out too cross, but knowing it had.

"Harry-"

Malfoy stirred slightly, his brow furrowing, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder, resting his head on it, wishing he could go to sleep too. Malfoy's eyes fluttered open and he met Harry's gaze, and smiled drowsily at him. He raised his head slightly and kissed Harry, still half-asleep, and Harry leaned into the kiss, not particularly caring who saw them. Not even caring when he heard Ron make a strangled noise of dismay. Malfoy's hand came up to play with Harry's hair for a moment, then he broke the kiss with a yawn.

"Um, sorry," he yawned again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, slowly orienting himself. "How long was I out?"

"Not long, I don't think," Harry told him. "Don't worry, you can borrow my notes."

"Mm. Wish we were in the greenhouse. Too hard to stay awake in this bloody class," he yawned.

"Malfoy, what's wrong?" Ron said quietly, and Harry gave him a tired glare.

"What?"

"You don't fall asleep in class."

Malfoy glanced at Harry. "You haven't told them?"

"No - you don't mind?"

"No, go ahead."

"You haven't told anybody in Slytherin."

"I know my housemates," he said dryly. "I also know your little cronies would rather gut themselves than hurt you. Tell them whatever you like." He picked up his quill, glancing at the board and trying to figure out where Sprout was in the lesson.

"Tell us what??" Hermione said, beside herself by now.

"Sh. We're just - Pomfrey's not really sure what's going on, actually-" and Harry found himself grateful for their concern, as he confided his worries to his two closest friends.

**ooooooo**

**Day 31, Thursday (dawn)**

Draco awoke, vaguely aroused and confused. That one had been... interesting. Not terribly vivid, but there was something... something warm about it...

He checked the time. Three in the morning. Potter was fast asleep beside him, and Draco drew close and pulled him into his arms, smiling slightly as Potter murmured and automatically tucked his head into Draco's shoulder. Draco slowly stroked Potter's hair, closing his eyes and expecting to drift off again, but his mind kept buzzing around the edges of the dream he'd been dreaming. Yawning, he frowned in irritation.

He needed to sleep. Their energy levels were getting lower by the day, and Pomfrey was asking all sorts of questions. Pepper-up worked somewhat, and being in Slytherin helped Draco a great deal - the challenge of having to compensate for his bond was rather bracing - but the fact was that they were weakening steadily. Hopefully Esposito would figure something out before too long, or they'd have to go back to Gryffindor before the Slytherins noticed anything was wrong.

He slowly ran his hand down Potter's naked back, finding sensual pleasure in the feel of skin on skin. Moved his legs between Potter's, and felt a tug of arousal as his hip brushed against Potter's groin and touched something hard.

Potter was dreaming again, apparently. And Draco needed to go back to sleep before he got too excited about it. He closed his eyes, popping them open again as Potter stirred against him and moaned.

"Potter?"

Potter awoke, startled to find himself embraced so firmly, and immediately started to rub himself against Draco. Draco chuckled.

"Randy bugger, aren't you? Merlin, Potter, it's three in the morning."

"My body doesn't know that. I was just dreaming it was early afternoon and you were doing, er, afternoon things. At the lookout point."

Draco's pulse sped up a little. "Potter, we've got to sleep."

"You know what'll help us sleep?" Potter said, and ran a hand down to Draco's groin. Draco hastily grabbed at it.

"How on earth you can still glow blue is a mystery to me."

"I could explain it to you, but I'd much rather do something that'll make us both go back to sleep."

"Fine," Draco gave in to Potter's logic. "But hang on-" he grabbed his wand off the night table and waved it over both of them, murmuring a quick spell.

"Only you would know a spell for getting rid of sleep-mouth," Potter took advantage of the spell and kissed Draco thoroughly.

"What do Muggles do about it?"

"How would I know?" Potter started to lick his way over to Draco's ear, and Draco sighed and revelled in the sensations, realizing that there really was no way he'd be able to go to sleep now without taking this to its logical conclusion. Virgin or not, Potter was becoming very good at getting what he wanted from Draco. Which suited Draco just fine. Other than the whole energy drain thing, which really wasn't a problem when they had about four hours before they had to be awake and functional again.

Draco closed his eyes, feeling his body responding to Potter, heat gathering under his skin... this was so good... so much nicer than hurried gropes in unused classrooms or up against trees... in fact...

"Potter. Stop." Draco drew back, placing a hand on Potter's chest. Potter groaned in frustration.

"What?"

"I want to... um, I'd like to go back to our quarters."

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't want to be worried that my roommates will interrupt us."

"It's three in the morning."

"I know. But if any of them put a spell to let them know when we-"

"Malfoy, come on. I don't like to say this, but let's be realistic; this won't take long. And then we can-"

"I want it to take a little longer."

"Why?"

God, Potter was thick sometimes. Draco took a deep breath. "Potter. How many times are you going to be turned blue in class before you get tired of it?"

"I'm already tired of it, but-" Potter broke off and Draco could almost see a little candle light up in his head. He slowly withdrew and sat up.

"Malfoy... I, you said you wouldn't pressure me-"

"I'm not. I'm just suggesting-"

"Look, I-"

"Lumos," Draco said, and winced as their small curtained chamber lit up. He sat up and handed Potter his glasses and Potter put them on warily, squinting at Draco through the bright light.

"Malfoy-"

"I'm not pressuring. But I'm ready, and I want to - I want you."

"I, I want you too, but-"

"You can top, if you want."

Potter blinked.

"Makes it a little different, does it?"

"Er... yeah." Potter rubbed a hand through his hair nervously. "But... but I've never-"

"Neither have I. We'd be even."

"Malfoy, I - what if I hurt you?"

"You won't, I trust you." Potter gave him an incredulous look and Draco smiled slightly. "As far as this is concerned, I mean. I trust you. You won't hurt me. More than - more than you have to."

Potter hugged his knees to his chest and looked down, and Draco could feel the conflicting impulses within him. He put a hand on Potter's arm and waited.

Finally Potter looked up at him, still nervous, but resolute, and nodded.

Draco reached for their portkeys as Potter gathered their clothing and schoolbags. Draco ended the light spell and handed Potter his key.

"You should take the privacy spells off and open the curtains," Potter said.

"Why?"

"So your dorm mates won't waste their time trying to get in to wake us up tomorrow morning. Not to mention getting caught in whatever other hexes you've set on the curtains."

"You're no fun," Draco said, but he ended the spells he'd set and opened the curtains. They activated their portkeys and instantly found themselves in the now-familiar surroundings of their bedroom.

"Lumos," Draco said, and they put down the clothing and schoolbags they'd brought from the Slytherin dorm. They faced each other, kneeling on the bed, suddenly shy.

"You're sure about this?" Potter asked softly, taking Draco's hand in his.

Draco took a deep breath and nodded.

"Do you want to do the trance the Healer suggested?"

Draco nodded again, and they both reached for their wands. They got closer and rested their foreheads against each other, closing their eyes.

Draco cleared his mind, breathing in deeply, and began the Incantation to Tranquility the Healer had taught them a few days before. Potter joined in, and soon their murmured words filled the air around them, an almost physical presence. Draco could feel serenity flowing into him, sounding like very gentle waves along a tranquil shoreline, leaving almost no room for extraneous thoughts or fears.

They repeated the incantation, falling deeper into the trance, their breathing slowing down and their lips getting closer until they were whispering against each other's mouths, stopping to kiss between words, entering a sort of flowing state of clarity and peace.

A third repetition, and they were done. They put down their wands and continued to kiss, drawing together, and Draco pulled Potter back until they were entwined on the bed, Potter's full weight on Draco.

Draco let his head drop back, concentrating on the feel of lips moving down his neck, hands caressing him everywhere. He pulled Potter closer, one hand entwining itself in his hair, one foot slowly rubbing up and down his calf, everything so very slow and so incredibly sweet. No words, only sighs and faint moans and the whisper of fingers against skin and waves against the shore.

Potter raised his head and looked down at Draco, wordlessly asking permission to continue, and Draco nodded, closing his eyes as Potter sat up and reached for a small bottle of honey-scented oil the Healer had given them. He felt Potter lie down next to him, and then he felt warm hands ghosting over his chest, his belly, leaving trails of scented oil glowing warmly on Draco's skin as they moved slowly downwards. Draco opened his eyes and reached for the bottle, pouring a bit onto his own hands, and slowly traced patterns onto Potter's chest, around each nipple, up to his neck, smiling at the way Potter's breath hitched a little as Draco's fingertips found sensitive spots but Potter's hands never stopped their slow, steady task of spreading the oil onto Draco.

Potter raised one eyebrow, asking for permission again, and Draco parted his thighs, feeling no fear as Potter's hand went lower and he started to rub the oil between Draco's legs. Another questioning look and Draco nodded, tensing a little in pain as one finger entered him, and Potter stopped and his eyes questioned, did Draco want him to stop - but Draco pulled him closer and kissed him, breathing slowly to accept the pain and relax, let it flow through him, and feel secure in the knowledge that the pain would pass, that there was nothing to fear.

Then Potter did something and a sharp bolt of pleasure seared through Draco and he gasped. Potter drew back, relaxing as he saw that Draco wasn't in pain, and repeated what he had just done. Draco grabbed his shoulder convulsively, a groan escaping him and his breath coming faster, almost hearing the sound of the surf disturbed a little as if by a sudden gust of wind, but soon settling back to the soothing rhythm of before.

Potter's eyes were questioning him again and he drew back, and Draco nodded and started to turn onto his stomach, then changed his mind. The Healer had explained that it would probably be easier to do it that way their first time, and it had seemed a good idea at the time, but now... no. He needed to see Potter, read his emotions, be able reassure them both. Potter frowned, puzzled, as Draco lay back again, drawing Potter back onto him and smoothing some of the oil onto him and smiling as Potter accepted the change and closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensations.

Potter drew closer and their mouths met again, and Potter brought one hand up to caress Draco's cheek and temple, stroking his hair back from his face, using his other hand to slowly guide himself into Draco. Draco tensed as a sharper pain burned through him, and he hissed into Potter's neck, nails digging into Potter's shoulders but pushing himself forward, accepting him into his body. Potter held very still, his lips silently brushing against Draco's temple, and Draco could feel him sensing along Draco's own emotions to reassure himself that Draco was OK, that he just needed a bit of time to adjust.

Draco took a deep breath, blew it out, and another, and another, following the rhythm of the almost inaudible gentle waves, the pain lessening and starting to make way for a sense of peace and belonging. Which the Healer had said was a natural reaction, and a good one. He sought out Potter's lips again, his legs coming up to Potter's hips, drawing Potter in further and gasping as the jolt of pleasure hit again, stronger this time and mingled with pain. Too strong.

"Shh..." Potter soothed him, but Draco felt a sob rising in his chest despite the trance, despite everything they'd shared so far - it was too much, it wasn't in his control, it was an invasion and wrong and he couldn't take it - but Potter was still there and still holding him, still inside him, drawing him gently back into the trance, back into them, back into trust. "Shhh..." Potter kissed his temple, took one hand in his, lacing their fingers together, still steady. Now gently rocking them together, the jolts more bearable, the soothing sound of the seashore gradually coming back. Coming back and then starting to grow louder as the sensations got more intense, but not so frightening this time.

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter gazing at him, his entire being focussed on keeping Draco from panicking. He smiled and brushed Potter's hair away from his forehead, tracing his scar and allowing their rocking to gather heat and intensity, hesitantly pulling Potter deeper into the trance, into trusting the trance to keep them safe as they started to lose themselves in the movement, the sound of the surf starting to grow until it felt like the shore during a storm, and then a thunderstorm, and they were starting to drown in it, be consumed by it - images that should've been terrifying but instead were exciting and exhilarating.

Although Draco was starting to sense that Potter was still steady, but in danger of getting overwhelmed by what he was experiencing. It was Potter's first time too, after all, and Tranquility Spell or no, he needed Draco's help as much as Draco needed his.

And Draco at least knew a little bit of what Potter must be feeling right now; the dizzying novelty of being inside another person, the impossibility of being required to slow down and control something almost uncontrollable: the body's burning need to thrust hard and fast and come as soon as possible. The Tranquility Spell could help with some of that, but it wasn't enough. He ran a hand down Potter's chest, soothed him, gentled away the tremors shaking him as Potter bit his lip and concentrated on not going too fast, not hurting Draco, not ending this before Draco was ready.

Except Draco was pretty sure he was ready. For just about anything. He pulled his legs closer, drawing Potter deeper inside, arching his back as exquisite sparks of lighting started to chase through him, urging Potter to follow his instincts and just let go. It was almost like they were trying to control the thunderstorm together, Draco thought as Potter shuddered and reached out with his mind, trying to make sure that Draco wanted him to move, that it was OK to let go, and then they were thrusting against each other and it was all was too hot to hang on to, they were getting burned, they were both going to burst into flame-

Draco caught Potter's mouth with his own, and was unable to hold back a scream as the lightning seared down every nerve and his back arched off the bed and with a hoarse cry Potter pulsed inside him, lightning enveloping them and almost obliterating them both with its bright heat, for endless moments, until they were spent and bonelessly exhausted.

And then it was over. Small fires still coursed through them, no longer overwhelming; almost soothing. Enveloping Draco in waves again, warm and safe and sweet. He slowly ran his hands over Potter, still on top of him and inside him and breathing softly into Draco's hair. And the sleep that came swelling towards him was comforting. He dropped into the darkness willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chibitoaster has made an illustration of the last scene (yes, that scene), at
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/h-dsmex_1.jpg
> 
> And it is decidedly NOT WORK-SAFE ;)


	10. October 29 - October 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, grateful thanks to beta!Kyllikki :)

**Day 31, Thursday (morning)**

Harry watched the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's chest and wondered if they were ever going to speak to each other again. He decided it didn't really matter.

He'd drifted up from a deep sleep and lain in a half-awake state for what seemed like hours thinking of nothing but the softness of the sheets and the warmth of the back of Malfoy's neck against his face as they lay spooned together, and the scents of honey, sweat, sex, and Malfoy's hair. Smelled like... jasmine, maybe? Some pleasant-smelling herb, anyway. Felt soft, too, and very fine. He'd blown on it gently, feeling it flutter against his lips, and sensed Malfoy slowly waking up but only opened his eyes when Malfoy turned onto his back. Malfoy had smiled sleepily and touched Harry's lips briefly with his fingers before sighing and closing his eyes again, one hand resting on Harry's thigh, fingertips absently moving in small slow patterns over his skin.

It was still early enough for them to make it to breakfast if they hurried. But Harry knew he didn't have the energy to get out of bed at all right now, let alone walk all the way to the Great Hall. He wasn't hungry either. And apparently, neither was Malfoy. So they lay next to each other, unmoving except for Malfoy's fingers, their breathing the only sound in the room.

A long time later, Harry glanced at the clock again. They had missed breakfast. And if they didn't get out of bed in the next ten minutes, they might not make it to Transfiguration on time. He sighed and slowly sat up, and Malfoy rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, gathering his strength. Slowly sat up, and winced slightly.

Harry touched his shoulder, raising his eyebrows, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and shook his head, dismissing Harry's concern as he slowly stretched and got out of bed. Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy getting dressed and ready to go. Malfoy moved like he had to push himself to not just lie back down and go back to sleep. And, judging from his slightly worried frowns at Harry every so often, Harry probably looked pretty similar.

Transfiguration. That was the only thing that mattered. Getting to the class, and getting there on time. Not because they were afraid of losing points or getting another detention, but because the alternative was just lying down and giving in to their exhaustion.

**ooooooo**

McGonagall looked up at the slight murmur that ran around the classroom as they walked in, and immediately beckoned them over to her desk. Harry frowned in puzzlement; they weren't late. They'd barely made it, but they weren't late.

"Potter, Malfoy, Madam Pomfrey would like you two to go to the hospital. There are two Aurors that would like to talk to you."

"Aurors?" Malfoy repeated, and Harry realized that was the first thing either of them had said all morning. "Why-"

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy. Now, run along and don't keep them waiting; they've been here since breakfast."

"Aurors," Harry said as they wearily trudged over to the hospital wing. "What for? Madam Pantere already talked to us about where the curse was set and what was going on when we walked through it; what else would they want to know?"

"Maybe get more details of the tiredness and all that," Malfoy said, rubbing his eyes. "Now that they're worried about this being something designed to hurt us."

"Malfoy... are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. Why?"

"You look terrible."

"Might not have had enough sleep last night," Malfoy sounded like he was going for dry humour but not quite making it.

"That's not it."

"I get the feeling we're about to talk about this quite a bit with the Aurors, Potter. Can we save it for when we absolutely have to?"

"Fair enough," Harry said glumly. Looked up, a little startled, as Malfoy's hand brushed against the back of his. "Yes?"

Malfoy had stopped and was looking at the floor, a little nervous. "Are... are you all right?"

"What?"

"With what happened-"

"Last night?" Harry found himself unexpectedly unable to suppress a wide grin, even through his weariness. "Absolutely. You?"

Malfoy's answering grin was all the reassurance Harry needed, and they stood there for a moment smiling at each other before looking away. Harry could feel about a dozen different emotions running through both of them, not one of them bad or unpleasant. Happiness, and surprise at that happiness. Cautious affection. A sort of shyness too, because this was all rather new to both of them.

None of which needed analysis or deeper thought. This isn't about thinking, it's about feeling, Malfoy had said a while ago, and he'd been right.

Malfoy nodded his head towards the hospital wing and they resumed walking, dropping back into companionable silence.

Oh... Pomfrey would probably want to know all about what had happened last night. And Harry suddenly realized he really didn't feel like sharing. It just felt too... well, intimate. He'd gotten used to talking to Pomfrey and Esposito about things he would've died to mention to anybody a few months ago, but what had happened last night...

It didn't have anything to do with the bloody bond spell. It did, but it didn't. What they'd done last night might have been started by the bond, might have happened only because they didn't really have a choice, but the  _way_  it had happened had to do with more than the spell. It had to do with the two of them overcoming everything they were up against and being able to build something together. Something bloody amazing. Because he doubted he'd ever forget his first time, as long as he lived, and if the emotions coming off Malfoy through the bond were anything to judge by, he doubted Malfoy would ever forget it either.

And Malfoy... that had been pretty damn powerful, Malfoy giving himself to Harry like that. He'd felt Malfoy's panic through the trance at one point, and been awed by the trust Malfoy had shown, letting Harry help him conquer it. Even after everything they'd done to each other, before and after their bond, Malfoy had let Harry help him, and then turned around and helped Harry too. Yes, a lot of that was probably due to the bonding and tranquility spells. But there was still something incredibly touching about having been able to take a boy who was feeling scared and overwhelmed and bring him back from the edge, just on trust.

And then this morning, when they'd been next to each other without needing words, without needing anything to feel comfortable and...

Bloody hell, he thought, drawing himself up short. This was getting just a little too intense. He needed to get some perspective, back-pedal a bit.

A lot of what he was feeling was only due to the bond spell, he tried to remind himself firmly. Just a spell. The feelings of trust and tenderness and togetherness - yes, they felt wonderful and genuine, but they didn't necessarily mean anything. He and Malfoy might be spouses, but they were not really friends, not really lovers. All of this could very well wear off eventually. It could.

But in the meantime... it felt unbelievable.

Oh, god, and now they were supposed to talk to Pomfrey about it. That would be sure to bring them both back to earth with a resounding thud. He thought resentfully that it was bad enough to be going through this involuntarily; did it also have to be under a magnifying glass? Because he'd really much rather remember his first time because it had been unexpectedly brilliant, rather than because he'd had to rehash every minute detail ad nauseam with the school nurse.

Maybe Pomfrey wouldn't think to ask. Maybe they'd be too busy talking to the Aurors about their fatigue today, and last night wouldn't come up. That would be nice.

**ooooooo**

"Harry? Are you feeling all right?" Madam Pantere repeated for the third time, and Harry started.

"Yeah-"

"No, you're not. What's wrong-" but Harry was getting up, the vague unease he'd been feeling finally coalescing into a need to do something.

"Potter-" Pomfrey said in alarm as Harry went to the partition that separated him from Malfoy and Auror Tobin, who was interviewing him. Harry pulled it open without hesitation, barely registering Pomfrey and Pantere's protests as he met Malfoy's eyes and saw barely contained anger and resentment replaced by surprise and relief.

"Mr. Potter!" Tobin exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, kindly return to-"

"Malfoy, what's the matter?" Harry asked, ignoring Tobin.

Malfoy pressed his lips together, shaking his head, and the Auror said, "Mr. Potter, I am conducting an interview here-"

"I didn't ask you," he said rudely, his eyes boring into Malfoy's. "What the hell is the matter? You're about to jump out of your skin." He put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, puzzled as hell as Malfoy kept his mouth firmly shut and looked away from Harry, his anger still simmering and not directed at Harry at all.

"Mr. Potter-"

"What the hell have you been asking him?!" Harry demanded.

"I am gathering information about who might have wanted to target you, Mr. Potter. I am doing my job," he said rather self-importantly, and Harry caught the defensiveness hidden behind the pompous manner.

"Just doing your job? The job of figuring out what's happening to us, or are you trying to get other information too?" he asked accusingly, and felt a surge of indignation at Tobin's guilty expression. "You bastard! You're supposed to be  _helping_  us, not interrogating him about-"

"Potter!" Malfoy said sharply.

"What did you ask him about!!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy stood and grabbed Harry's shoulder and dragged him behind another partition. "What-" Harry started to say, and Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up. No, shut up," he whispered, his anger at the Auror quickly focussing on Harry himself. "I don't need you coming in and rescuing me, you stupid git! I can handle-"

"What the  _fuck_  did he say-" Harry demanded, pushing Malfoy's hand away from his mouth.

"What the  _fuck_  do you think he said?" Malfoy whispered furiously, eyes glittering and hand tightening painfully on Harry's. "He asked what my father thinks about our bond, and what he's said to me about it, and what I think this means for my family, and how Father's doing with his... his 'social position' with the, with - and whether he thinks the curse was cast by a-" He abruptly caught his breath, stopped, and looked away, and his angry grip on Harry's hand loosened. He took a couple of deep breaths. "And whether my father thinks the curse was cast by a Death Eater who's jealous of him," he finally said, his voice soft. "And whether I thought it might have been cast by Father in the first place. To get rid of you, for the Dark Lord."

Harry caught his breath, his mind reeling that anybody could even think that of any father, let alone ask that of any son... and then reeling even more at the fact that he couldn't say for the life of him whether Lucius Malfoy had it in him to sacrifice his only son for the sake of Voldemort or his cause.

"And he asked a number of other things about my father, which I can't even talk to you about." Malfoy was still speaking softly and not looking at him, and Harry grabbed his shoulder, trying to force him to look up. "Potter, don't."

Damn it. Damn it to hell, they couldn't even talk about it. They couldn't, it was the single most important thing in their lives, in the lives of everybody in the wizarding world, and yet they were supposed to exist in the thick of it, Harry as Voldemort's nemesis and Malfoy as the son of Voldemort's right hand man, on opposite sides of the war, and pretend with all their might that it just didn't exist. Because it wasn't an outright war; it was all done through spies and lies and Imperius curses and manipulation and Malfoy's father didn't even admit to being on the opposite side, not really, not even after serving time in Azkaban.

"He can't ask you things that have nothing to do with the curse," Harry said slowly.

"Can you prove they have nothing to do with it?" Malfoy shot back.

Fuck.

"Do you  _want_  him to say shit like that to you, when he's supposed to be helping you?" Harry asked, deciding without letting himself think about it to pick Malfoy's side in this one thing. Not the whole war; just this one battle. This one battle that had to do with figuring out how to live through this curse.

What a Slytherin decision to make, Harry thought suddenly. Forget the grand scheme of things, forget that Auror Tobin just might be able to get information out of Malfoy right now that could help them win the fucking war. Forget all of that and just think of his own - and Malfoy's - health and safety, and-

No, no goddamn time to think about this right now. "Do you want him abuse his position right now to further his career in Magical Law Enforcement?"

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "Further his career?? That a little cynical of you, isn't it?"

"That's what he's doing, and you know it."

"How Slytherin of you to assume self-interest."

"Don't start insulting me, you bastard," Harry snapped, "or I'll point out that trying to keep me from helping you right now is bloody Gryffindor of you."

Malfoy snickered, a startled, unexpected sound, and the tension between them lessened palpably.

"He can't ask you that kind of shit," Harry said gently after a moment. "It's not right, and it won't help. If he has to ask hard questions as part of the investigation, that's one thing, but if he's just doing it to get ahead - or even to, to help in the fight... this isn't the time."

Malfoy took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Besides, how could you just let him - where's your stupid Malfoy pride? Why didn't you stand up for yourself and tell him to sod off?"

Malfoy sighed. "Potter, I've been asked those kinds of questions before. After my father was arrested, and for months afterwards. My mother and I were both worked over by just about every Auror in the Ministry," he said bitterly. "Believe me, I learned how to live with them. And the first thing I learned was that it didn't do any damn good to resist them outright, or try to outthink them. The only thing that ever worked was saying as little as possible. Especially with Mudbloods - oh, fine, Muggle-borns - like Tobin; they've got a special axe to grind with us."

Harry pressed his lips together. Damn it. He remembered, at the time, that it had given him a great deal of pleasure to think of Malfoy and his mother being interrogated like common criminals. Well, that was then, this is now, he told himself. "Look, you said your father hasn't talked to you about any of what they're asking about, so he can't get any information anyway if he interrogates you on this now. He's just wasting his time. Our time."

"I told him that. Oddly enough, he didn't believe me. I didn't feel like beating my head against a brick wall trying to convince him."

Harry thought for a moment. "You know, there's no reason to do the interviews separately. I could sit in with you."

"And what exactly would your heroic presence accomplish?"

"If nothing else, I can get them to stick to questions that might help us. And let them know you're telling the truth when you say you don't know anything."

Malfoy rubbed his eyes tiredly and nodded, giving in. Harry drew open the partition.

"I'm staying. You interview both of us together," he said flatly, amused at the looks on both the Aurors and Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr. Potter-"

"I'm not leaving. If you have something to say to him, you can damn well say it in front of me too."

"Mr. Potter, I hardly think that-" Tobin began, and Pomfrey stepped in front of him.

"You won't get anywhere, Mr. Tobin, Potter's very stubborn," she said to Tobin, and Harry caught a gleam of approval in her eyes, and a rather frosty look at Tobin. He smiled to himself. Brusque and unsympathetic as Pomfrey often was, there was no denying that she was very attached to her patients, and was probably seething at the idea that an Auror would've used his time to do anything that wasn't related to keeping two of her charges from deteriorating further.

"Well? Go on, Mr. Tobin. Ask your questions," she said, sitting down next to Malfoy.

Tobin raised his chin defiantly. "My questions are relevant to this investigation," he began, and Pomfrey nodded impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. Ask them. These young gentlemen are not missing valuable class time just to hear your speeches."

Tobin hesitated.

"What was the last question he asked?" Pomfrey asked Malfoy.

"He asked if I thought my father's political views might have led him to put me in danger by binding me to Potter with a deliberately miscast curse," he said evenly. "Before that he had asked a lot of questions about my father's political beliefs and connections."

"What??" Pomfrey and Pantere both looked at Tobin in disbelief.

"Those were legitimate questions! This boy's father supports the very people who have been trying to kill Mr. Potter for years. Considering his political beliefs, it makes sense to-"

"My father's beliefs are not against the law," Malfoy said angrily.

"His actions have been."

"You may have heard that he paid for them."

"If you call that payment-"

"He was in Azkaban for ten months," Malfoy interrupted heatedly, and Harry put a hand on his arm, calming him down.

"Yes, for breaking and entering into the Ministry, but he was also charged with murder. And because he struck deals with various people in high places, he was released. That's hardly what I'd call payment. He is also a known Muggle-hater and-"

"As I pointed out, his beliefs are not against the law." Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer and he glared at Tobin in distaste. "Nor are mine."

"You have the same beliefs?"

"I am a Malfoy," he said defiantly. "I stand with my family."

"Going to be a Death Eater just like dear old dad some day, is that it? Let me remind you of what I said before: Death Eaters are probably behind this."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"But you know the people he socializes with. You know which ones are Death Eaters, which ones are most likely to commit any kind of atrocity for You-Know-Who-"

"Auror Tobin-" Pantere began.

"These people are capable of anything. This boy's father is capable of anything, and he's training his son to be just like him, a little Lucius Malfoy-in-training-"

"This is  _not_  Lucius Malfoy!" Pomfrey broke in furiously. "This is a seventeen-year-old boy who is in serious trouble, and I'll thank you to remember that that's what you're here for!"

"I am an Auror; if you think I'm going to let the chance slip by-"

"You just did. You are off this case," Pantere said abruptly.

"What?!"

"I'm not as concerned about your questions as I am about why you are asking them. You are not able to focus on the task that has been given to you, which is to help these young men. I'm going to call in Shacklebolt. He'll take over for you."

Harry quickly suppressed his alarm. Kingsley Shacklebolt was part of the Order of the Phoenix. Technically, all Aurors were working against Voldemort, but Shacklebolt was especially dedicated to the cause. If Shacklebolt came onto this case, he wouldn't limit his questions to just the information needed to help Harry and Malfoy, though Harry knew that unlike Tobin, he would try to help. No, Shacklebolt's loyalty to the Order meant that he must use every opportunity (and this was certainly a good one) to extract information about Malfoy's family to use against Voldemort, even if that meant deceiving Malfoy about the nature of his visit. And Malfoy had no way of knowing that.

And they needed help. They needed somebody like Shacklebolt.

And... and it wasn't like Malfoy was an unsuspecting innocent, Harry reminded himself. He had experience with Aurors. And he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy: suspicious and devious and able to hold his own against anybody.

Well... except that he was also tired, and not thinking quite right, and letting down his guard around Harry, a little, which would probably lead him to not be as careful as he should be around Kingsley, especially if Harry didn't warn him that there was any need to be especially cautious when speaking about his father's activities.

How could he betray the trust Malfoy had placed in him?

Then again, how could he betray the trust the Order placed in him? Not only was he not supposed to reveal the identity of members of the Order, but keeping silent might allow the Order to obtain information about the inner workings of the Malfoy family that could be invaluable to their side...

Oh god, who to betray?

Malfoy was peering at him suspiciously as Tobin angrily handed his papers over and stalked out of the hospital wing, and Pomfrey and Pantere looked over his notes. Harry quickly schooled his features into perfect inscrutability and tried with all his heart to remember everything Snape had ever taught him in Occlumency. While at the same time trying very hard to not hear Malfoy's mocking "It's almost impossible to lie to your spouse under a new bond, Potter," in his head.

"All right, then," Madam Pantere interrupted his thoughts, "you two can go back to class, if you wish."

"We can go?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I will consolidate my notes with Auror Tobin's, and will continue the questions later, with both of you present."

"Do you mean later today?"

"Yes, and hopefully I'll also have contacted Shacklebolt - oh no wait," she muttered to herself, "he's on assignment in Kenya right now. Damn. Well, I'll have contacted somebody else who can join me on your case. Never mind, just go back to your classes, and I'll see you later."

"We've missed all of Transfiguration, and most of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry noted as they left the hospital wing, desperately trying to not think about Kingsley Shacklebolt until he could be sure Malfoy was distracted by something else and wouldn't notice his inner turmoil.

"What's the matter?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing."

"Potter."

They stopped in the middle of the corridor and Harry took a deep breath. "Nothing I can talk to you about," he said quietly, meeting Malfoy's eyes levelly.

Malfoy held his gaze, his expression unreadable, for a long moment. Finally he gave a small nod and turned to continue on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, stopping as Harry put a hand on his arm.

"Malfoy... I would if I could," Harry said awkwardly.

"I know. It's all right," Malfoy said quietly.

"It's not. But..."

"We have to get to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"It's more than half over and I doubt we'll get anything done there anyway. Let's go home instead," Harry suggested, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and nodded.

**ooooooo**

"Harry, are you going to see Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked at dinner a few hours later.

"Yeah, maybe, after dinner. We didn't have much of a lunch," Harry said, listlessly trying to force himself to eat. They had ended up going back to their quarters and rather predictably falling into bed together, falling asleep after a groping session that had felt... oddly intense. Like they were both trying to use touch to bridge the distance that they were forced to maintain over so many important parts of their lives. Or maybe just trying to forget that distance in the easiest way they knew.

They had slept through lunch and Charms and had been woken up by Pantere, who had a new batch of questions that had caused them to miss Arithmancy and Runes and barely make it to Herbology at the end of the day.

"You missed breakfast too," Hermione pointed out. "Does she know that you're not eating?"

"He's just not hungry, Granger," Malfoy said quietly. "Stop bothering him."

Hermione's mouth dropped open at the almost civil tone with which Malfoy had just addressed her.

"He's a big boy. He knows enough to go see Madam Pomfrey if he needs to. Now either talk about something else or leave him alone." He went back to pushing his meal around the plate.

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the meal before him and not the deep desire to just go back to their room and sleep.

"-een ball on Saturday, Harry?"

Malfoy elbowed Harry and indicated that somebody had just spoken to him.

"Sorry, what?" Harry focussed on Seamus.

"I asked if you're going to the Halloween ball."

"No. At least, I don't think..." He glanced at Malfoy, still listlessly forcing down food next to him. Malfoy shook his head.

"No. Too much homew-" and Harry stopped as the world became oddly red-tinted. He blinked, startled, but the red tinge didn't fade and somebody near him gasped. Malfoy looked up at him and then blew out his breath in annoyance, picking up his wand.

"Finite incantatem," he muttered, and the red tinge disappeared. Malfoy tucked his wand back into his pocket, going back to his meal as though nothing had happened. As though the Great Hall hadn't just erupted in a barely contained frisson of excitement, with cheers and groans breaking out from parts of the Slytherin table and some of the Ravenclaw table, and a low buzz from the head table as the teachers evidently tried to decide whether to wade in and demand that the students cease and desist their bet-settling activities, or just ignore the whole unseemly event.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, deeply appreciating the silence at the Gryffindor table. Wonderful. Good old Virgo Acclaro. It was too bad it had been cast at dinner time, but as they'd missed all their classes with the Slytherins today he supposed he should've expected it to happen eventually. Especially since the Slytherins had probably wondered why they'd started last night at the dungeon but gone to their own quarters in the middle of the night.

Well, at least that was the very last time it would ever be used on him.

"Harry?" Hermione finally said hesitantly. "Are you... are you all right?"

"Yeah," he stabbed at his meal, wondering why he couldn't muster up a sense of indignation or anything more intense than mild annoyance. "Yeah, fine."

Hermione stared at Malfoy suspiciously, almost accusingly. Malfoy looked up and met her glare, and glanced around at the semi-hostile silent Gryffindor faces around him. Went back to his meal, not bothering to respond.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Just wishing this wasn't the subject of discussion for the entire school in the middle of dinner. And probably on the front page of the Prophet by tomorrow morning." He took a deep breath. "And stop looking at Malfoy like he's done something wrong," he said to the table in general. Malfoy looked up at him, startled, and Harry decided he'd had enough. He leaned closer and spoke into Malfoy's ear. "Come on. Let's go." Malfoy nodded and put down his fork and they both pushed back, leaving the Great Hall without another word.

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said once they were in the corridor.

"Not your fault."

"No, but..."

"Potter, don't worry about it."

They silently made their way to their quarters, and for once Malfoy didn't protest when Harry dropped everything on the floor as they entered. He dropped everything too and turned, taking Harry into his arms and resting his head against Harry's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

There was a long silence. "No. I'm fucking well not, and you know it. And neither are you."

Harry shook his head, pulling him to their couch and drawing them down onto it, exhaustion making them clumsy and careless.

"I-"

"Potter, I don't want to talk about this."

"No," Harry said, and drew him closer, kissing him.

"God, no, I don't want to..." Malfoy said hopelessly, but met Harry's lips with his own, hands coming up to undo Harry's tie.

"I don't either, but..." Harry answered tiredly, desire fighting exhaustion, his own hands sluggish as they undid Malfoy's shirt buttons, pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

"Don't have much of a choice, though, do we?" Malfoy said grimly, gasping a little as Harry's fingers found their way into his trousers.

"They'll figure out what's wrong," Harry murmured. "They will. We'll be all right. It's probably just what Pomfrey said today, we just have to stop all other spells and potions, see if that helps-"

"It won't. It won't fucking help. Here, no, I'm not doing this on the sofa, let's go to bed-"

"I-"

"We're going to pass out as soon as we're done, you know it, I don't want to fall asleep here-" and they stumbled to their bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and managing to get each other's clothing off on the way, and Malfoy reached for the small jar of oil they'd used the night before.

"No, we, I can't-" Harry began.

"You bloody well can, you did it last night."

"That was with a trance and - and I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't hurt me, you idiot."

"I-"

"Potter, I don't have time to argue with you. We're both exhausted, Pomfrey and the Healer haven't a clue what to do for us and look more worried than they have any right to be, I've got Aurors suspecting my own father decided to sacrifice me to the Dark Lord and people are celebrating in Slytherin house right now because you nailed me last night and I'm so bloody exhausted I'd like to just sleep for a week except I'm so fucking hard I know I won't be able to, and I'd really appreciate it if you would just fuck me through the mattress so we can both pass out for a few hours until I can face my housemates and accept their congratulations without killing them. All right?"

Harry chuckled despite himself. "But aren't you-"

"Sore from last night? A little. Who gives a damn? Not me. Now are we going to do this or not?"

Harry took his mouth in a long kiss, wishing they weren't so tired, wishing he wasn't feeling so hopeless, wishing he could even muster up a bit of decent fear over their situation. Anything but this numbing weariness. He started to rub the oil onto Malfoy, noting how his eyes seemed duller, his skin paler than usual, but slowly starting to awaken as they touched each other. How ironic, that the same thing that was killing them seemed to be the only thing that could bring them to life.

"Here, hang on," Malfoy said, and turned over onto his stomach. Harry finished with the oil, carefully helping Malfoy relax, tiredly grateful for the distraction of what they were doing, for the hitch in Malfoy's breathing, the shivers that coursed through them both.

"Oh Merlin," Malfoy sighed as Harry carefully slid into him, and Harry echoed the sentiment, bracing himself on one elbow, nuzzling the back of Malfoy's neck as he waited for Malfoy to relax again.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little. No, don't - don't stop," Malfoy whispered, "I just need to relax." He took a couple of deep breaths, moved a little. "I'm all right. Just - go ahead, move, please..."

Harry started moving carefully, chewing on his lip to stop himself from going too fast or too hard, reaching under them with one hand, smiling when Malfoy sucked in his breath at the feeling of Harry's hand closing over him.

"That's - I'm not going to last-" Malfoy cut himself off with a groan. "That's - ah-"

"I'm not going to last long either-" Harry gasped, feeling himself careening towards his own climax. "Doesn't matter - oh-"

And then Malfoy was crying out under him, pulsing into Harry's hand, his muscles tightening around Harry and sending Harry right over the edge.

They lay panting together, Harry nuzzling into Malfoy's hair, limbs growing heavier by the moment. He started to move off.

"No," Malfoy murmured. "No, don't - you don't have to get off, you're not that heavy."

"I'm not crushing you?"

"No. Just feels warm. Nice," Malfoy murmured sleepily. "Like I'm safe."

"I wish," Harry said, then smiled to himself. If Malfoy remembered what he'd just said when they woke up, he was probably going to be more than a little embarrassed. "I'll spell the clock to wake us up in two hours, all right?" He waited for a few moments, but no answer was forthcoming and he realized Malfoy was already asleep.

**ooooooo**

**Day 32, Friday**

Draco glanced around the common room blearily, grateful to be in Gryffindor where he didn't have to pretend he was fine. Not that it was all that wise to let anybody in on just how drained he felt, but at least here there would be fewer repercussions if he was observed operating at less than full strength. And anyway, he didn't feel like he could pretend, even if he wanted to.

He gazed at the fire as Potter and his friends played Exploding Snap next to him, and wondered if any of them could tell just how tired Potter felt. Probably not; Gryffindors weren't terribly observant. Except for Granger. The Mudblood was a hell of a lot more perceptive and intelligent than the average Gryffindor; had she been a pureblood, she would've been in Slytherin, he was sure.

Actually, no; she used her perceptiveness and intelligence, as far as he could tell, almost exclusively for the good of Potter and the Weasel. Too altruistic. Maybe Ravenclaw, then.

He lay his head on his arms, chancing it. The latest advice from the Healer was to fight the lethargy and not allow themselves to nap during the day, since that seemed to only drain them even further in the long run. So here they were, no Pepper-up, no patience potion, nothing but themselves in the fight against sleep. And against desire, because that inevitably led to a need for more sleep.

No point fighting against consummation of desire, of course, since that had its own unpleasant consequences. No, they were supposed to try to avoid arousal itself. Which meant, of course, that they couldn't stay in their quarters, since that pretty much led to them wanting to shag all the time. And since their extreme fatigue also meant they had to stay away from Slytherins, they were left with Gryffindor. Noisy, irritating Gryffindor.

Not as irritating as Slytherin last night, though. It had been a special kind of torture, putting up with the party atmosphere over there. Keeping his face firmly schooled into gracious acceptance of their grating good-for-yous and amusement at their snide comments directed at and about Potter. Silently willing Potter to hold on to his own masks of stoic indifference and boredom, knowing that any hint of embarrassment would be pounced on like fresh meat before a pack of hungry werewolves.

Fucking wearying beyond belief, is what it had been.

The only enjoyable part of the evening had come near the end of the party, when Malcolm Baddock had made the mistake of pushing Potter just a little too far. Potter hadn't told Draco what had finally crossed the line, but Draco had sensed his exasperated boil-over and looked up just in time to see his green eyes take on a dangerous glint before Potter casually flicked his wand and said something that was immediately followed by a piercing shriek from Baddock.

Screaming Scrotalpox, the fourth-year boys who'd rushed a half-hysterical Baddock to the washroom had said with deep admiration when they came back, and Draco couldn't suppress a grin at Potter's creativity. Screaming Scrotalpox was not the most painful of hexes, but was satisfyingly foul-smelling and unsightly and, of course, loud - large sores on the scrotum, screeching ardent pleas to all and sundry to come and touch them while denigrating the victim's skill at masturbating with a disturbing amount of detail. It had taken three boys twenty minutes to get rid of them.

The fact that Draco had never liked Baddock, and Baddock had replaced him as Slytherin Seeker, had made it all the sweeter.

Even sweeter had been the grudging respect towards Potter that he'd seen on several Slytherin faces after that. Millicent had even surreptitiously handed Potter a butterbeer. And it certainly hadn't hurt Draco any for his housemates to see that his spouse could hold his own against Slytherins and give as good as he got when pushed too far.

He felt his eyelids growing heavy even as he smiled at the memory, and realized he'd have to do something to stay awake. Studying was right out - even Potions wasn't within his abilities in his present condition, and the bubble of silence he'd need to concentrate was right out as well; without constant sharp noise, he'd be lulled into sleep no matter what he did.

The only thing that came to mind was socializing. With Gryffindors.

He sighed, trying to delay joining them as long as possible, and cast about for something else to do. Something that wouldn't require too much concentration, wouldn't require interaction with anybody, wouldn't put him too close to Potter or give him any ideas, wouldn't tire him out... bloody hell... nothing came to mind. Nothing but sitting and staring at the colours of the fire and feeling the soothing warmth of the flames, the flickering lights dancing and keeping away the dark, comforting and peaceful and-

"Malfoy," Potter's voice startled him. "Don't fall asleep."

He blinked, shaking his head. "No, I'm not-" he covered his mouth, hiding a yawn. "I'm trying," he muttered irritably.

"Not trying hard enough," Potter muttered back, and Draco didn't bother to answer that. He glanced at the other Gryffindors.

"Are you not playing any more?"

"We're taking a break. Seamus went down to the kitchens to get something to eat."

"Mm." He looked back at the flames.

"No, come on, stay awake. Talk or something."

"About what?"

"Well... what did your parents say when you talked to them tonight?" Potter asked.

"You mean my mother," Draco said dryly. "You know my father hasn't spoken to me since the day we got suspended, Potter. Don't bother doing the noble Gryffindor thing, avoiding upsetting me with reminders of unpleasant facts."

"I think you have Gryffindors confused with Hufflepuffs. I was just being polite so you wouldn't bark at me and tell me to mind my own business. What did your mother say, then?"

"About what?"

"About us having to come back to Gryffindor, about the Healer and the Aurors-"

"She hopes everything works out well, what do you expect her to say?"

Potter stared at him questioningly. "This isn't one of those 'I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you' things, is it?"

"What?"

"You haven't told her what's happening. You haven't told her how serious it is."

"Pantere's already told her and Father what's going on, more or less."

Potter seemed baffled. "Don't you want to talk to her about this?"

"Why would I? She's not my friend, Potter. She's my mother."

"But you don't talk to your friends either."

"I-"

"You don't. You haven't confided in anybody. You don't have anybody to talk to."

Draco swallowed hard and looked away, and Potter put a hand on his arm.

"Don't try to do the calming thing, Potter," he said dully. "Because it's possible that thinking 'it'll be all right' at me won't feel all that believable right now."

"No." Potter turned so that they were more closed off from the rest of the room, in their own separate corner near the fireplace. "Somehow I don't think you can reassure your spouse that everything's all right if you don't believe it yourself."

Draco nodded and, after a brief hesitation, covered Potter's hand with his own. Shifted a little closer to him, allowing himself to take what comfort he could in Potter's presence.

"You're scared, aren't you?" Potter said very softly, and Draco automatically started to withdraw. Potter tightened his grip slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just..." he swallowed. "So am I."

Draco closed his eyes briefly, stopped trying to pull away.

Yes, he was. Scared, damned scared - as much as he could be, considering his fatigue. Healers and Aurors didn't look the way Esposito and Pantere looked unless things were really serious. They didn't just decide to practically move into Hogwarts to follow one particular case if there was nothing to worry about.

Potter's hand was idly playing with Draco's fingers, his expression serious. "I keep trying to not think about it. If I'm really tired or busy, it's all right, but when I'm not..."

Draco nodded. "Me too. Thinking about how we felt yesterday, and how much worse we are today, and trying not to think about how much worse we'll feel tomorrow-" Potter made a sound in his throat and Draco stopped.

"I keep thinking it feels rather unfair." Potter absently brushed a stray tendril of hair off of Draco's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Don't you think? That we managed not to kill each other through the first few days of the bond, and now the bond's killing us instead?"

Draco smiled grimly. "Yeah. I would've thought anybody wanting to kill us both wouldn't have needed to do anything more than bond us together. I wouldn't have bet on us surviving that."

"Neither would I," Potter smiled back. And somehow his smile felt comforting, despite everything. Reminding him of two nights ago, when they'd been doing more than just surviving their bond, they'd been enjoying it, and enjoying each other, and...

...aand this was probably a very bad idea, Draco realized as Potter's eyes widened a little as they both recognized where they were headed. Again.

"This was a bad idea," Potter said softly.

"We can't avoid it all the time, Potter," Draco said hollowly, knowing it was too late, it took so little to arouse them and it took such effort to keep away from each other. They were dancing along a fine line, trying to avoid the negative consequences of resisting the bond spell  _and_  the negative consequences of giving in to it, and the dance was impossible to maintain and all they could do was desperately try to delay the consequences as long as possible, hoping that somebody would come up with a cure or find the caster of the spell before they both collapsed for good.

And the only thing that made them forget the danger they were in was the very same thing that put them in danger in the first place.

Potter was drawing closer, their faces close enough to touch and Draco didn't give a damn that they were in the middle of Gryffindor's common room, they were bloody well married and anybody who had a problem with them acting married could go jump out the window as far as he was concerned.

He bridged the distance between them and then their mouths were locked together, this was so damned addictive, it was the only thing that felt good any more, the only thing that cut through the exhaustion and fear-

"We - we can't stay here-" Draco said breathlessly after a moment, pushing himself away from Potter.

"No, let's go-" Potter got up, pulling him up, and Draco reflected as they hurried to the door that when his entire body yearned so desperately to pull Potter closer and feel all of him, when his skin was screaming for more contact, it was insane that they had to make their way across the common room with a minimum of decorum. The minimum was so incredibly frustrating.

"Harry-" Weasley called out, and Potter gave a small groan but stopped and turned.

"We're going to be upstairs in a while, right?" Weasley said, looking extremely red and embarrassed, and Potter rubbed his forehead and nodded, immediately turning and almost pushing Draco out the door and up the stairs.

"What was that about?" Draco asked.

"Ron knows we're supposed to try to stay awake right after, so..." Potter cleared his throat. "So he and Hermione are going to come upstairs so they can prevent us from falling asleep."

"How fucking annoying."

"They're trying to help," Potter said, grabbing him as soon as they were in the dorm room, and Draco didn't feel like stopping to explain that - for once - he didn't think Weasley and Granger were being annoying; he was referring to the situation itself.

No time to discuss that as they hastily moved to the bed and drew the curtains and rational thought fled again as they gave in, not bothering to remove any clothing that didn't interfere with what they were doing. Nothing slow or languid or tender, what they needed was this, quick and rough and a little desperate, Draco's legs over Potter's shoulders, both of them coming fast and hard.

Followed by the deadly heaviness of their limbs and slowness of their thoughts and the seductive pull of sleep that didn't do anything but pull them farther down each time.

**ooooooo**

"Harry?"

Draco groaned at the sound of Granger's voice, and Potter sighed in resignation.

"They're trying to help," he reminded Draco as he slowly rose up and off of him, and Draco nodded listlessly.

"Malfoy, come on," Potter said, pulling up and buttoning his trousers. "Get dressed."

"Harry?" Granger repeated, a little louder. Potter undid the privacy spells around their bed.

"Yeah, we're awake, just give us a minute," he called out, and handed Draco his trousers. Draco put them on mechanically, nodding at Potter once he was decent again, but not bothering to sit up. Potter opened the curtains.

"We brought some cauldron cake and cocoa," Granger said brightly, her casual manner belying the blush on her cheeks as she caught sight of Draco still lying on the slightly rumpled bed where he and Potter had just had sex, and tired as Draco was, he snickered. Some things never got old, such as the shy awkwardness with which most of the non-Slytherin students treated sex. What a lot of fuss over something so damn simple. He suddenly wished he had Pansy or Blaise or even Crabbe and Goyle there to join him in poking fun at Granger - and at Weasley, whose face matched his hair right now and who was looking everywhere but at Draco.

Then again, if any Slytherins were here, he wouldn't be lying down. He'd be doing his best to look and act like there was nothing wrong. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed wearily as the others settled on the floor near Potter's bed and Granger started cutting pieces of cake.

"Malfoy? Would you like some cauldron cake?" Granger offered with forced politeness. He shook his head, not bothering to glance in her direction.

"Erm - anybody care for a game of Exploding Snap?" Weasley asked.

"Oh, brilliant," Draco muttered.

"If you've got a better suggestion-" Weasley began defensively, and Draco rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I'm not being sarcastic, Weaselby. I don't actually have any better ideas."

"Malfoy, come on," Potter poked him. "Get up."

"Stop that," he muttered. "I'm awake."

"You won't be for long if you don't sit up," Potter half-snapped at him, and Draco glanced over at him, his own sharp retort dying unsaid as he took in Potter's appearance.

Mordred, he looked godawful. Eyes bloodshot, face pale, hair a complete mess, courtesy of its innate nature plus their recent activities. Draco propped himself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder.

"What?"

They gazed at each other silently. No need for words, and no words to say, really. "Are you all right?" No, of course he wasn't. "We'll be OK?" Meaningless. "Don't be scared?" Ridiculous.

"Your hair's a mess," Draco finally said, and sat up, wincing a little.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Potter asked, a little alarmed.

"Bloody hell, Potter, stop asking that after every time, it's getting annoying," Draco said irately, and accio'd Potter's hairbrush.

"What do you mean, after every t-OW!" Weasley broke off as Granger suddenly elbowed him, and turned to glare at her. "What was that for??"

"I think your girlfriend's trying to tell you to not ask questions about a male couple's sex life," Draco said, amused, "unless you want to hear all about who does what to whom and-"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped, and Draco snickered at Weasley and Granger's beet-red faces but didn't continue, choosing instead to busy himself trying to make Potter's hair resemble something semi-civilized.

"I'll, er, go get the cards," Weasley mumbled and started to get up. Granger stopped him with a hand on his knee and cleared her throat.

"Harry, we erm... we've been wondering..." She cleared her throat again and glanced at Weasley for support.

"What are you going to tell the others?" Weasley blurted out, then plunged on quickly as Draco and Potter looked at him questioningly. "Because people are already noticing that you two aren't exactly in top form right now, right? And it's - it's getting a little awkward not saying anything, especially to the other blokes here."

"And we thought if some of your friends know what's going on at least they can help keep things quiet. Because you know how nosy Dean can be-"

"And Seamus and his big mouth-"

"And they might even be able to help to keep you two awake, and, erm..."

"Distracted," Weasley supplied helpfully.

"Distracted, yes, and so we thought it would be a good idea to let at least some people know what's going on," Granger said. "Like, for example, your roommates, because even Seamus is going to notice something, and blab it about. And maybe Ginny, because she's around us so much, and you know she can be pretty good at distracting people who are asking questions."

There was a short silence.

"That's... fine by me, I think," Potter finally said. "Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, not particularly interested in the topic. Which, he reflected as he worked a tangle out of Potter's hair, he should be. He supposed he should put up at least some token resistance. "Do you want everybody in this bloody house know what's going on?"

"No. Just people I - ow, that hurt - I trust."

"Hold still, then. And I repeat, do you want everybody in this bloody house to know?"

"Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ginny," Potter said. "I trust them."

"You don't trust the rest of your house?"

"Not necessarily."

Hm. Interesting. He should probably file that factoid away for some future time. Providing the bond didn't kill them first.

He shrugged. "Fine," he said, giving in and picking up a letter-ribbon to tie Potter's hair back. Why Potter had a letter-ribbon on his night table, he couldn't fathom, since he never seemed to get or send any owls, but maybe it was a memento of some sort.

So, he thought as Weasley went off in search of confidantes and Exploding Snap players. Two Weasleys, two Mudbloods, a half-blood Irish buffoon, and pathetic little Neville Longbottom were all going to work to keep him and Potter from collapsing or being seen collapsing. Lovely. Very dignified. Worthy of a Malfoy. Father would likely be owling him soon, with a politely worded request to please explain why the remains of their ancestors had just exploded all over their family crypt. And he would tell Father, and then Father would explode too. And maybe that would keep Draco awake for five whole minutes.

Now he was getting maudlin. Charming. He shook his head and tried to get himself under some semblance of control before the Gryffindor troops came marching in.

**ooooooo**

**Day 33, Saturday**

Hermione smiled at Terry Boot as their dance ended and he bowed to her formally.

"Thanks," he grinned, and leaned in closer as the band started the next dance. "And I never did ask, to what do I owe this pleasure? In other words, where's Ron?"

"Prefect duties," she said. "He'll be back later."

"Duties on Halloween? That's rotten luck. Well, his loss. Another dance, then?"

"I'd love to, but I promised to go with him for part of his rounds - right about now, actually."

"That's true devotion for you," Terry said wistfully. "Maybe if I'd been that dedicated to Susan, she wouldn't have dropped me for that oily little sixth year Slytherin. Ah well. Plenty of other mermaids in the sea and all that." He waved at Hermione as she moved off and was already chatting up a gaggle of fifth year Ravenclaw girls by the time she had reached the punch bowl.

"Hermione! Not going home already, are you?" Ernie MacMillan said as she passed him, and she pasted on a polite smile. He wasn't so bad, really - just a little slow, which she didn't need to deal with right now. She was supposed to be back at Gryffindor, taking her turn accompanying Harry and Ron and Malfoy, so that Neville and Ginny could come to the ball and people wouldn't comment on the absence of so many of the Gryffindor upper years.

"Sorry, Ernie, I have to run - Ron's expecting me-" Ernie's forehead began to furrow and Hermione quickly added, "And Neville, of course, they're both waiting for me - special Astronomy assignment."

Ernie's brow cleared and Hermione sighed in relief that she hadn't had to endure one of Ernie's exhortations on proper Prefect decorum and not being seen carrying on a romantic assignation or other rule-breaking activity past curfew.

"Good luck!" Ernie called as she wove her way through the other students.

She checked the time. Not that late. Hopefully Harry and Malfoy wouldn't already be asleep; they were supposed to stay up until ten, at least. Which she doubted they could do; they'd been slowing down so visibly and drastically that she was really starting to panic. This morning it had taken Neville and Ron ten minutes just to get them out of bed.

The situation was getting desperate. It was no longer a question of  _whether_  to let anybody else know what was going on, but only  _when_ ; at this rate, by Monday there would be no choice but to take them both to the hospital. And after that...

She hurried to the Great Hall doors. Ron and Neville had said they might try some light Defence Against the Dark Arts practice. It was a little odd to think of voluntarily doing Defence Against the Dark Arts practice with Malfoy, but if it kept him and Harry awake, they'd consider it a success.

They'd keep them up two more hours. Just two more hours. Then she'd put in another appearance at the party, and then she'd go home and finally be able to keep working through the stack of books and scrolls she'd obtained from Madam Pince. Life spells, waking spells, special counter-curse spells, advanced counter-curse-creating theory...

Esposito had also mentioned that she might want to consult the works of Paracelsus, Cliodne, and Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. She could look them up tomorrow. And she'd try not to think about how much it worried her that Esposito, a well-known and respected Healer, had so readily accepted her offer to do research. If Esposito was accepting the help of a seventh-year student, the situation was dire indeed.

"Granger!" a voice hissed from behind her as she entered the corridor.

Oh, god, what now, Hermione thought, and turned. Blinked. Pansy Parkinson was half-hiding in the shadows of the corridor outside the Great Hall, and beckoning her closer.

"Parkinson?"

"Granger," Parkinson said, barely hiding the distaste she felt at having to talk to a Muggle-born. "What the devil is going on with Draco and Potter?"

"What?"

"Why aren't they at the ball?"

"Why would they be?" Hermione asked, trying to act genuinely puzzled. "They can't dance with anybody-"

"That didn't keep Draco away when he had a broken arm last year."

"Crowds aren't a good idea for them, you know that; people bump into them all the time-" Hermione tried to continue on her way and Parkinson stepped in front of her.

"Why did Draco go back to the Gryffindor dorm?"

"You know they're spending time at each other's-"

"Rubbish. What is wrong with Draco?"

"Nothing, why?"

"Granger!" Parkinson looked like she was trying very hard to keep a hold of her temper. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Nothing is going on-"

"Granger, I swear-" Parkinson stopped, and visibly took a hold of herself. "I know something is wrong. I know Draco as well as anybody alive, and I can see that he's not doing well. He looks exhausted, he's hardly talking at all in class, he's always in the Gryffindor dorm, he didn't go to the Quidditch game today-"

"Why would either of them want to go see Quidditch when they can't play?" Hermione said impatiently. "And he's probably not talking much because he's fallen too far behind in his studies."

"Bollocks. There is something else going on."

"Why don't you ask Malfoy, then," Hermione said frostily.

"He won't tell me anything!"

"Then perhaps there is a reason for that."

"What?"

"If there was anything going on and he wanted you to know about it, he would tell you, wouldn't he? Why are you so interested in finding out what he obviously doesn't want you to know?"

"Because I care about him, you stupid Mudblood bitch-" Hermione turned on her heel and started to walk away.

"Granger!" Parkinson grabbed her arm, and Hermione spun around, shrugging her off and drawing her wand. Parkinson took a step back, startled, and grabbed for her wand as well, and they faced each other silently for a long, tense moment.

Abruptly, Parkinson lowered her wand and pocketed it.

"Granger." Parkinson took a deep, careful breath. "Please."

Hermione blinked, startled.

"I'm asking because I'm Draco's friend and I care what happens to him. I'm not plotting against him - or your precious little Potter."

"Really."

Parkinson sighed. "Look... you don't understand. Draco and I have been friends since we were children. I wouldn't hurt him, I just want to-"

Hermione barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Loyalty and altruism, from Pansy Parkinson. That was rich.

Parkinson noticed her expression, stopped and shook her head. "So damned typical of you people," she said bitterly. "You see Slytherin pureblood and all you see is the enemy. And the Dark Lord. You have no idea what it means to be part of our world. To be part of a group of families that have stood together against all sorts of things for centuries. My family and Malfoy's have been allies for generations, Granger. That's loyalty your kind can't even imagine."

"I've don't have to imagine it; I've seen pureblood family loyalty firsthand. I was there the night Bellatrix Lestrange killed her  _cousin_  Sirius Black-"

"Yes, and you Gryffindors are all so very, very loyal to each other, aren't you? I seem to have heard about a certain slimy little Gryffindor called Peter Pettigrew-"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and Parkinson shook her head in disgust.

"Look... fine. Fine, you stupid cow, you wouldn't know true friendship and loyalty if it came up and bit you in the arse. Tell Draco, though. Or maybe tell Potty and he can talk to Draco; Draco would never listen to the likes of you. Tell him... tell him Draco still has friends in Slytherin. He can count on some of us to help. And he can count on some of us to remain friends even if our families decide otherwise."

Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"It's not always about who's on top in Slytherin," Parkinson said roughly. "You remind him of that. Sometimes we can be human beings too." She turned and went back into the Great Hall.

Hermione watched her go, and couldn't help feeling she'd let something important slip away.


	11. November 2 - November 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Kyllikki :)

****  
**Day 35, Monday** ****  


They shouldn't have tried to go to class today, Draco thought as he held on to the wall for dear life, his thoughts clouded and slow. They should've gone straight from Gryffindor to the hospital wing. Or maybe back to their quarters.

Why hadn't they?

Because...because Potter had said they had to try. He'd said... something about the hospital being too easy, too much like admitting they were done for.

And why was that bad?

God, he didn't remember any more. The stone beneath his fingers was cool and smooth, and he was arguing with himself, and he didn't even remember what the argument was about.

Going to the hospital was bad because... because they didn't want to give up. Right.

Why couldn't they go back to their quarters instead of Potions class?

Because then they'd want to have sex and then they would pass out and nobody would find them and...

And why was that a bad thing?

Sod it, he didn't know.

He should've fought Potter harder. He shouldn't have let Potter convince him to try to go to class. But he was in Gryffindor territory, surrounded by them, and the others looked dubious but basically wanted their precious Harry to prevail, and he wanted to go to class, and Draco didn't have the strength to fight them all. And besides, he'd thought, maybe they were right and they could do this.

Bad idea, trusting Gryffindors at all, let alone trusting them to be rational where Potter was concerned. They loved him, they believed he could do just about anything. Despite the fact that it had taken Weasley and Longbottom and Thomas about half an hour just to get them out of bed, they wanted to believe that this was just mind over matter and if Harry put his mind to it Harry could do it, because Harry could do anything.

Stupid Gryffindors didn't have a fucking clue that Harry was barely hanging on. They didn't have a bond that let them feel it, and they didn't have the sense God gave even the stupidest Slytherin child. A fucking sense of reality.

And they'd been staring reality in the face for days. Reality was that they could barely function yesterday, that the efforts of the entire Sleep Prevention Squad - as they had, in typical Gryffindor fashion, immediately dubbed themselves - had been insufficient to keep them awake past eight o'clock last night. Reality was that this morning he and Potter were so exhausted they'd barely been able to dress themselves, and Seamus Finnigan had invented some reason why he just had to leave the room while the other three gamely pretended it didn't bother them at all to see him and Potter in bed together bare as the day they were born and too weak to pull the sheets up. If that wasn't reality, he didn't know what was.

He should've fought them harder. Or maybe not fought as hard. Because the fight itself had worn out Potter. And Potter had made it most of the way down the corridor to Potions, but now, with the classroom in sight, he had stopped, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. And Draco had no choice but to stop and wait for him, as the rest of the Gryffindors went ahead into the classroom.

"Potter." Draco pushed off from the wall. "Come on."

Potter shook his head, and his eyes were glazed as he met Draco's, and he started slowly sliding down the wall.

"No, Potter, come on. Stop that!" No answer, just Potter's eyes finally closing as he slumped to the floor. Draco leaned down slightly.

"Damn it, Potter, I can't carry you, I can barely stand up myself. Come on!"

Potter didn't stir.

Oh Merlin.

No, this couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end.

Damn it, fuck Slytherin reality, he needed that stupid Gryffindor faith that Potter could do anything, because maybe if he believed it enough, it would be true. Because he needed Potter to be able to get up and keep going, he needed him to not give up...and he glanced at the Potions classroom, hoping somebody would come out and see why they weren't there yet. Pansy, or Blaise...or Granger, or Weasley, or anybody.

"Potter!" Draco said sharply, to no effect.

God, no.

He tried to clear his mind, gather his strength, think about what to do next. But it was so damned hard...and he was so damn tired...and Potter, damn him, had failed him, so much for the hero of the wizarding world, so much for the Boy Who Lived who could do anything - suddenly Draco's frustration and fear broke through his exhaustion and he pushed himself off the wall, fury giving him energy. "You stupid fucking Gryffindor!!" He kicked Potter, who barely reacted, "Stand up!!" He heard a noise from the classroom and kicked Potter again, then punched the wall, hard, at the end of his rope. "Stand UP!!"

Potter groaned, unable to react otherwise, and Draco's anger died as quickly as it had flared up and he slid down the wall, ending up kneeling next to Potter, barely registering the sound of running footsteps. "Potter, come on. Please...please, get up." He tugged at Potter's arm, shaking him. "Wake up, come on, please-"

Weasley skidded to a stop before them, Granger at his heels. "You fucking bastard!! What's the matter with you?" He grabbed Draco and pulled him away from Potter, who shuddered and reached out for him, green eyes open now, but dull and unfocussed. Draco gasped at the searing fire from Weasley's hands, weakly trying to wrest out of his grip.

"Ron!! That hurts Harry too!" Granger pulled him back and they both crouched down, looking helpless. Draco grabbed Potter's hands, stopping their blind, aimless grasp for him. He looked up and focussed on Granger, frowning in concentration.

"Granger. Get Pomfrey. He needs help-"

"You're fucking right he needs help, you foul - you KICKED him-"

"No, that's not - he needs help, he's going under, I can't - get Pomfrey, he needs - no, shhh," he murmured into Potter's ear, pulling him close and supporting him weakly, muffling Potter's half-conscious whimpers. "We're going to the hospital, we'll be all right, shh..." He looked back up at Granger. "Please, get Pomfrey-" Granger nodded to Weasley, who took off at a run.

"You bastard!!" Granger hissed furiously at Draco. "How could you??"

Draco didn't bother answering her, just hung on to Potter, who clung to him desperately, oblivious to the crowd of students coming out of their classrooms and gathering around them, and damn Potter anyway for collapsing in the busiest hallway of the school on Monday morning. "Shh..." He closed his eyes, holding Potter close and trying to ride out the waves of nausea and weakness sweeping over them both. "We'll be all right soon," he murmured and Potter, half-conscious, mumbled something. He smoothed Potter's hair with a trembling hand, and Granger made a small sound of dismay in her throat.

"Malfoy - your hand," she said. "Are you all right?"

"Does it look like we're all right?" Draco muttered. Honestly, Gryffindors.

"You're - you're bleeding," Granger stammered. Draco nodded drowsily.

"Myeah, 'sallright," he said, starting to slide down further on the wall.

"No - wait, I don't think you should - Madam Pomfrey said you can't give in, it doesn't help - Malfoy! Stay awake!"

It seemed that she was worried about something, Draco thought distantly, but it was hard to figure out what, when everything was getting blurrier and the world was narrowing down to nothing but himself, Potter, and the blessed oblivion calling to them...

"Malfoy! Harry!!" Granger's voice was taking on an edge of panic. She poked Draco in the shoulder and he gasped with pain and opened his eyes. What the hell was her problem?

"Draco?? Draco!!" Pansy's frantic voice was coming from somewhere, probably she'd been in the Potions classroom already when they'd gone down, but damn it he couldn't tell where she was now-

"Malfoy!" Oh thank god, that was Pomfrey's voice. "All right, come on. Get up, back to the hospital for you."

"He can't, they're exhausted, they can't even stand up any more-" Granger was babbling.

"What are you all gawking at?" Draco dimly heard Pansy's voice rising stridently. "Do none of you have business elsewhere? Goyle-"

"Everybody MOVE!" Goyle bellowed, and Draco felt the whispering and rustling of many bodies moving off. "Stupid firsties - GO!! Fuck OFF!!"

"Everybody but Granger, Parkinson, Weasley and Goyle, back to your classrooms!" Pomfrey shouted.

"What's wrong with them?" Pansy demanded.

"What's wrong with them is they need to come to the hospital again and they don't need a lot of nosy busybodies about - no I'm not talking about you Miss Parkinson, Merlin's beard - you two, help them up-" and Draco's arm burst into flame as somebody who wasn't Potter touched him - "Yes, I know, it hurts them, there's no help for it and it'll keep them awake - Mr. Potter, you're going to have to get up - yes, I know that hurts a lot more, that's just too bad-"

Draco tried to keep from crying out as Goyle hoisted him up and slung his arm over his shoulders. His whole side was on fire, and he couldn't stop the small gasps of pain, he was burning up-

"The quicker you get there, the quicker you can get away from them. Let's go, then," Pomfrey said briskly, and Draco wondered if there was any way of getting his father to have her fired as soon as he was better, for treating them like little boys who were just being difficult when the truth was that they were faced with a choice between the agony of trying to walk and the agony of having Weasley and Goyle practically carry them.

"That's hurting him!" Pansy was saying shrilly. "Can't you levitate him there?"

"For that you need a full-body bind and the Healer wants to avoid that if at all possible," Pomfrey said. "Mr. Malfoy, when you get to the hospital wing, you will be able to sit and not touch anybody. Now. Move."

Sit. Not touch. Anybody. Except the one person who could make him feel even marginally better. That was worth making the effort to push through the pain and dizziness.

Not that he really had any other choice.

**ooooooo**

Hermione tensed and moved closer to Harry as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy strode into the hospital wing. Wishing she could touch Harry, let him know that even though he didn't have parents to visit him, there were people who loved him gathered near him. She and Ron had been at his bedside for hours. Earlier in the day, Neville and Ginny and a host of other students and professors had come by, until Pomfrey had banned everyone but Ron, Hermione, Pansy Parkinson and Snape from the hospital wing.

Unfortunately, Harry had been in and out of it since arriving at the hospital, and was now mostly unconscious.

Narcissa's hand went over her mouth as she approached Malfoy and looked down at him. Hermione followed her gaze, wondering briefly what it would be like to see him as a mother would - and was immediately appalled. His normally pale face was so void of colour that his eyebrows looked black in comparison. Skin translucent, fragile, almost incorporeal. Breath so soft it seemed almost nonexistent. Hermione glanced up at Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius showed no expression at all.

Hermione turned back to the bed, surprised to see that Malfoy was stirring faintly.

"They said you were still unconscious," Narcissa blurted as he opened his eyes, and hastened to his side, wringing her hands together, plainly wanting to touch him and unable to think of what to do otherwise.

"Yeah..." Malfoy said, his voice distant, focussing on her with difficulty. "Heard you... come in."

"Draco, what happened?"

"On our way to class..." Malfoy trailed off, closing his eyes again, the effort of speaking too draining.

"They had been losing energy steadily for the last few days," Snape spoke up. "They were able to get up this morning, but collapsed before the first class."

"Why were we not informed that the situation was this serious?" Lucius asked, his eyes fixed on his son and his voice dangerously quiet.

"Your son didn't want you to worry," Pomfrey said, waving a couple of chairs close to the hospital bed so that the Malfoys could sit down. "And there was nothing you could do. We were - we  _are_  - making all possible efforts to get to the bottom of this and help them."

"What have you discovered so far?" Lucius asked, ignoring the chair, still staring at Malfoy, whose face had turned towards Narcissa's but who otherwise seemed non-responsive.

"We have a few ideas," Pomfrey said. "Healer Esposito and Auror Pantere will have more information for you later." Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Right now, your son needs you. Please sit with him."

"My son is almost unconscious and has little idea that we're here," Lucius spat angrily, fixing her with a glare. "He can barely string together a coherent sentence. I would like to know what is going on."

"You will, once we are all present."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Everybody who's part of this case. We're waiting for Remus Lupin and Professor Dumbledore."

"The werewolf! But-"

"Dad..." Malfoy said faintly, and Hermione started slightly, never having heard him call Lucius anything but Father or Sir. "Please. Just...sit."

Lucius immediately went to his son's side. "Draco, why did not you tell us-"

"Lucius, this is not the time," Narcissa said quietly. "Draco...how are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Malfoy said faintly, his grey eyes clouded.

"Well, we're here. We're here, sweetheart," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh shit, Mum, don't," he said weakly, looking away from her, his brow furrowing. "Don't-" he turned away from her, burying his face against Harry's shoulder, breathing deeply to calm himself, and Narcissa nodded and blinked her eyes rapidly, wiping away her tears. Lucius took the chair that had been drawn for him, his cool gaze sweeping over the people gathered around Harry and Malfoy, dismissing Hermione and Ron and focussing on Parkinson and Snape.

"Why did you not inform me of the severity of his condition?" he asked Snape, keeping his voice low.

"I didn't know the extent of what was going on until today. I had assumed that the situation was under control-"

"You were supposed to be monitoring him."

Snape nodded soberly. "I should have been more vigilant. I apologize."

"The Gryffindors knew," Parkinson said coldly. "They didn't see fit to inform anybody else, though."

Lucius and Narcissa both fixed Hermione and Ron with their stares, and Hermione felt Ron surreptitiously take her hand.

"And what did you do about it?"

"The Healer had said that they should be kept awake as much as possible," Hermione said. "We tried, but-"

"Why didn't you say anything to Draco's friends?" Parkinson asked angrily. "We could have helped-"

"We were doing everything we could," Ron said.

"Just the two of you?" she sneered. "Maybe if you'd had help, you could've-"

"There were six of us!"

"Six?" Parkinson pounced. "All Gryffindors, I presume? You didn't think Draco's friends were worthy of even being told-"

"Listen, Malfoy didn't-"

"Didn't want to worry you," Hermione cut in quickly. "I don't think either of them realized just how bad things were getting."

Lucius fixed her with an unnervingly calculating gaze, and she squeezed Ron's hand again, trying to communicate to him that he should really not open his mouth again. Then Lucius' attention fixed on his son, and Hermione wished she could tell what he was thinking. Was he annoyed that Malfoy had tried to hide the severity of his condition from everybody? Pleased that he had been properly mistrustful of his fellow Slytherins? Angry that apparently he'd confided in Gryffindors?

"What have the Healers said?" Narcissa asked quietly. "What's causing this? All we were told was that their bond seemed to be causing them fatigue."

"Erm..." Ron began. "Well...they, they - when, um-"

"They feel tired after sex," Hermione broke in bluntly.

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Well who doesn't?" she said impatiently. "What does that-"

"No, they feel  _too_  tired. And resting doesn't help them in the long run. It just keeps getting worse and worse. That's why we were trying to keep them awake."

"So why are they being allowed to sleep now?"

"This is as alert as they've been able to get. The Healer and Madam Pomfrey have been dosing them with everything they can think of, casting every charm that might help-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" Pomfrey called. "We're ready here." She gestured to the small hospital wing office, where Remus Lupin was being ushered in.

Lucius curled his lip in distaste. "Ah yes, the werewolf has seen fit to make an appearance." He stood up, gestured to Narcissa and Snape to join him.

"No, Lucius, I want to stay here," Narcissa said, not taking her eyes off of her son. He nodded and turned towards the office, stopping in surprise as Hermione stood up and Snape stepped back to allow her to precede them into the office.

"What-"

"Miss Granger is coming to the meeting," Snape said neutrally. Lucius raised a disdainful eyebrow.

"How lucky Mr. Potter is," he said mockingly. "Absent Muggles, a werewolf, and an adolescent girl as his parental figures."

"I'm not here as a parental figure," Hermione said evenly. "I've been working with the Healer doing research, and I've been asked to join her in presenting what we've discovered so far."

Hermione firmly told herself that it was utterly inappropriate for her to indulge in even a moment's gloating or thrill of vindictive pleasure at the completely outraged expressions on Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's faces.

**ooooooo**

**Day 36, Tuesday**

"Sir, you can't-" Pantere was saying urgently the next day, as she and Esposito followed Lucius and a small man in Healer's robes into the hospital wing. Ron, Narcissa, and Snape looked up.

"We're taking him home," Lucius told Narcissa curtly.

"What??" Ron and Snape said simultaneously as Narcissa nodded nervously and slowly stood up.

"Mr. Malfoy-" Esposito began.

"Stand aside," Lucius said to Pantere as she stepped between the new Healer and Malfoy's bedside.

"You are not going to remove this boy from school grounds," Esposito said. "He needs to be here where we can help him-"

"He is not safe in this school," Lucius said coolly. "So far this year, Draco has been cursed, landed in the hospital because nobody was monitoring to make sure he and Potter didn't do anything stupid, almost got killed in a fight, and he is now dying because of a curse that nobody seems to know how to cure." He drew himself up. "Our family can afford Healers who will be able to deal with this situation far better anybody has so far. I am taking him home."

"You can't take him without Potter," Pomfrey said, joining them at Harry and Malfoy's bedside. Ron gulped and stood up, drawing his wand to defend Harry if Lucius tried anything funny.

Lucius gave Pomfrey a look of withering contempt. "I will of course bring Mr. Potter along as well."

"There is no way that you will be permitted to take Harry Potter to your home, Mr. Malfoy," Pantere said calmly. "You must know that. The outstanding charges against you alone would be sufficient to-"

"I will petition the Wizangemot to-"

"You will make us waste valuable time fighting in court instead of trying to cure them or trying to find out who did this to them."

Harry stirred and Ron quickly drew closer to him, losing the thread of the discussion as he and Pomfrey quickly determined that Harry was awake and aware of his surroundings. What ruddy awful timing, thought Ron. Waking up to Lucius Malfoy wanting to move you to Death Eater Central.

"What's going on?" Harry whispered.

"Nothing, just Malfoy's father's being a pillock. Don't worry about it."

"Be reasonable, Lucius-" Snape was saying, and Lucius narrowed his eyes at him and changed tactics abruptly.

"Very well, then. He will go to St. Mungo's. Surely that counts as reasonable?"

"He is staying here. They are both staying here," Pomfrey said firmly.

"You have no authority to keep Draco here. He is an adult. If he were conscious, he would choose where to go, and he would choose to go to St. Mungo's."

"I wouldn't," Harry said faintly.

Lucius ignored him. "There is no reason they cannot both be taken to St. Mungo's-"

"Other than the fact that your private Healers will try to slip in all sorts of Dark magic that they couldn't get past the wards at Hogwarts," Pomfrey said coldly. "What are they ready to use? Unicorn blood? Phoenix hearts? Anything else that'll save their lives at a price that Potter at least wouldn't want to pay?"

"Be silent," Lucius said dangerously.

"You can't take me to St. Mungo's," Harry said weakly, sitting up slightly.

"I can take my son," Lucius finally acknowledged Harry. "Whether you choose to come or not is no concern of mine."

"But it is a concern for Draco, Lucius," Snape said urgently. "If you take him away from Potter-"

"There are ways of getting around their bond," Lucius said. Ron glanced at Esposito in surprise as she nodded calmly, as though she'd expected this.

"Mr. Malfoy," Esposito said with forced patience. "Most people do not even know that such a thing is possible, and for good reason. Such a step is only appropriate where spouses are in mortal peril-"

"Which is precisely the case here."

"'Mortal peril' means 'about to die'. Hanging off a cliff or something like that. Not receiving medical care that you have decided is inadequate. It is almost never attempted, because even with the best precautions it too often results in the death of one or both spouses."

"It can be done," Lucius repeated stubbornly.

"Yes, it can. It will almost certainly kill Mr. Potter and may very well kill both of them."

"So may staying here. I will take that chance."

"That chance may kill both of them," Pantere broke in. "But maybe that's what you want?"

"What??"

"Our working theory right now is that this curse was cast by a Death Eater, to kill Mr. Potter. Wouldn't it be convenient if your actions were to cause that death? And you could successfully argue that you only did it to save your son."

"How  _dare_  you??"

"And would it matter that that puts your own son in danger?"

Lucius seemed speechless.

"Stop it," Harry said wearily. "He can hear you."

"What?" Pantere glanced at Harry and Malfoy in puzzlement.

"They've both reported during lucid moments that they can sometimes hear what's going on around them even when they can't respond," Pomfrey explained to Pantere. "We don't know if he can hear or understand what you are saying to his father right now. I won't have you upsetting my patient by accusing his father of being prepared to murder him."

"And I will not dignify that accusation with a response," Lucius added. "I am taking my son to St. Mungo's  _now_."

"You cannot say for certain that Draco would choose to go there if he could," Pantere said.

"Draco is unconscious; he cannot make decisions for himself. I am his father, and I say-"

"You're not his next of kin," Harry said slowly, "I am."

There was a long silence.

Ron swallowed hard and moved closer to Harry's side. Harry had said once that he was fairly sure that Lucius Malfoy was going to Avada Kedavra him in anger many years ago, when he'd tricked him into freeing Dobby. Seeing his face right now, Ron could certainly believe it. And Harry was totally defenceless right now.

Actually, not totally defenceless. Besides the people surrounding him, ready to stand between him and Lucius, the stunning irony was that Harry's best protection against Lucius Malfoy right now was bloody Draco Malfoy himself.

"He is right, Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey finally said. "You are no longer the person with the right to decide what happens to your son when he is unable to speak for himself. Potter is."

"This is ridiculous. It's not even a proper bond-"

"That doesn't matter."

"I am going to take my son to a place where he can be helped-"

"No," Harry said very faintly. "He's not going."

"You know he would want to."

"He can't say so right now," Harry said, and Ron wondered whether Harry thought Malfoy would choose to stay or go if he could. He supposed it didn't really matter.

"I will petition the Wizen-"

"Lucius...we can't win this one," Narcissa said softly. "I...I don't like this any more than you do, but I think..."

Lucius stared at his wife speechlessly, then at his son. His throat worked as he visibly struggled to resign himself to the situation.

"Very well," he finally said. "Then I will use our family's resources to try to find the caster of the spell. Narcissa, stay here in case he wakes up, so that you can ask him where he wants to be. Be prepared to take him immediately. And I expect you," he nodded at Snape, "to stay as well, as a witness." He glanced at the Healer he'd brought in, jerked his head towards the door, turned on his heel and swept out of the room without a backward glance, the Healer close behind him.

Narcissa Malfoy sat down, trembling, and Snape touched her arm.

"Narcissa?"

"He's - he doesn't-" and Narcissa clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, obviously not willing to talk candidly in front of Ron or Harry. Snape's gaze flickered from Ron to Harry, and he frowned. Ron followed his glance.

"Harry..." Ron said softly, shaking his head. Harry had slipped back into sleep again.

**ooooooo**

**Day 38, Thursday**

Hermione leaned her head on her hand wearily as Esposito talked, and hoped she looked more confident than she felt. Glanced at the people she'd been working with for the last three days: Esposito, Pomfrey, Lupin, Snape, Narcissa Malfoy, and two Healers the Malfoys had brought in. Except for Narcissa Malfoy, they all looked fairly sure of themselves. Hermione realized that she'd probably never trust another Healer again, knowing they could be this good at dissembling. There was no reason for them to look self-confident at all. None of them had any idea that what they were proposing was going to work; they had simply run out of time to come up with anything else.

The last three days had been exhausting and nerve-wrecking, with Healers and Aurors working at an increasingly frantic pace as Harry and Malfoy slipped further and further down, their waking periods steadily less frequent and less lucid, until they were barely breathing on their own and the Healers judged that, without a counter-spell, all the life-sustaining spells and potions in the world wouldn't keep them alive for another day.

And, since Pantere and the other Aurors had made almost no progress tracking down the caster of the spell, the group working on counter-spells and potions were being forced to try the counter-spell they'd developed, which was as close as they could get to a solution. Which was not nearly close enough.

The spell they'd developed was complex and couldn't be done by only one person; it would depend in large part on the emotions and memories and magical power of a group of people casting it together. Thirteen, Professor Vector had said after lengthy Arithmantic study. Five who were close to Harry, five close to Malfoy, and three 'neutral' parties. Hence this meeting, to explain the counter-spell to the people who had been selected to perform it and who had not been part of its development. A group that was sadly deficient in proper balances and strengths. Parents for Malfoy, but none for Harry. Close, trusted and proven friends for Harry; Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini for Malfoy, neither one of whom Hermione would trust with a Galleon, let alone Harry's - or even Malfoy's - life.

Even his parents couldn't be trusted, thought Hermione as she stared at Lucius Malfoy's expressionless face. They didn't even know how Lucius would react to their proposed spell, considering what Malfoy had done two days ago.

Hermione hadn't been there to see Lucius' reaction; she'd only seen Narcissa's. During one of the last times he'd been awake, Narcissa had spoken to Malfoy for a long time, quietly and more gently than Hermione ever suspected she could speak, explaining what was going on, and had finally asked him whether he wanted to be taken to St. Mungo's. Malfoy's expression had been impossible to read. He'd gazed at Harry, asleep next to him, for a long time before silently shaking his head. And Hermione had wished she could've known why he'd decided to stay; whether he was afraid of leaving Harry, or genuinely didn't want to, or whether he just didn't trust his father. There was no way to tell.

Narcissa had merely nodded, gently telling her son, "It's all right. I'll explain it to your father. Don't worry." And Hermione couldn't help but sense that Narcissa was relieved, for all that she looked nervous about breaking the news to her husband.

Lucius had not been back since. And they had no idea what he'd say to their proposal now. And without him...

Harry's life, depending on the good will of Lucius Malfoy. It was painfully ironic.

Not to mention also depending on the good will of Narcissa Malfoy, Snape, Zabini and Parkinson. A more unlikely set of saviours for the Boy Who Lived could not have been put together if they'd tried. Hermione looked away from Parkinson's hard stare as the Healer explained that they thought they were dealing with an Unbalancing Curse that disrupted a natural magical balance of opposites. In this case, Life and Death. Sex, a strong conduit of Life Magic, was somehow being twisted to bring about Death Magic. The natural balance between the two was being thrown off, and the only thing they could think to counter that imbalance was to flood it out with balance.

"You all know that a Dementor, which feeds on negative feelings and emotions, is fought off by the magical power of good memories and joy," Esposito was explaining. "In the same manner, we are hoping that the animating part of this curse, which feeds off of imbalance, will be fought off by the power of balance. And in order to provide the balance, we need you. We've chosen seven balanced pairs of magical elements, and we will need you to provide the magic and memories to invoke them." Esposito paused for a moment, looking around the room, gauging her audience's receptiveness so far.

"You all know that group casting is difficult and draining, and requires a great deal of trust. There are a few risks, mostly related to the dangers of dealing with uncommonly strong magic and getting caught in a backlash if a member of the circle fails. As well, you will each be closely linked to one other member of the circle and that can feel... uncomfortable. Intrusive, and disconcerting. Moreover, when a spell requires strong emotions and memories for the casting, there is always some...well, leakage, among the group of casters. A sort of involuntary Legilimency will take place. That will no doubt be difficult to deal with, as you catch glimpses of the memories of the other members of the circle, and know that they can catch glimpses of your own.

"We know that we are asking for a great deal from each of you. We also know that, because of the nature of this group, many of you have unfortunate histories with one another, and much reason to be hesitant about exposing yourselves and your memories to each other. But this is the best chance these two young men have of being freed from their curse. We wouldn't ask it if there was any other choice."

She paused and cleared her throat. "One other thing. If you agree to be part of this, each of you will have to agree to be questioned under Veritaserum to make sure that you have no knowledge of who cast this curse. I will take Veritaserum myself, and then I will conduct the questioning." She looked steadily at Lucius as she spoke. "And I will also ask Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore to join me during the questioning, after they have gone under Veritaserum themselves."

Lucius' eyebrows went up but he remained otherwise impassive.

"You have three hours to decide and prepare yourselves, before we begin teaching the spell to the group. If you decide not to participate, please let us know as soon as possible, so that we may replace you."

Hermione gulped. There were no real viable replacements for Malfoy's side. If any of them decided not to participate, the only other possibilities were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, neither of whom was strong magically, and both of whom had a relationship with Malfoy that more closely resembled that of bodyguards and servants than true friends. And if one of Malfoy's own parents backed out...

Damn those Slytherin poker faces. There was no way to tell what Lucius or Parkinson or Zabini were thinking. Narcissa and Snape were committed; Narcissa had said as much. But as for the other three...

**ooooooo**

"He will not forgive us for this, Narcissa," Lucius said flatly.

The conversation had not started off promisingly to say the least, Snape thought as he and Narcissa traded a look. Snape inclined his head at her, indicating that she should start.

"Lucius, we have to."

"The Healers don't even know that this will work."

"I've been there while they've been developing it. It has as much chance of working as anything does."

"Which is not much," Lucius said bitterly.

"It's the best chance he'll get."

"Using their methods."

"We don't have a choice," she said reasonably. "They are prejudiced against the sorts of methods we could use."

"And we cannot change their minds. You know that, Lucius," Snape said. "There is no chance of Dumbledore or Esposito or anybody else in that room agreeing to what your Healers suggested."

"The risks-"

"I know," Snape interrupted wearily. "The negative effect of unicorn blood as a life-extender has been exaggerated by mealy-mouthed cowards. There are no negative effects associated with using phoenix hearts, except to the damned birds themselves. Trying to turn the curse back upon its caster without knowing the identity of the caster is not nearly as dangerous as the hypocrites in that room claim." He took a deep breath. "But you will not be able to convince them of that. Not in time to save Draco."

Lucius shook his head. "Had you fought them when Draco said he wanted to stay here - the Healer herself said that he was just confused-"

"Yes, we all know he was," said Snape soothingly, knowing no such thing but knowing that the only way Lucius could deal with his son's choice was to pretend Draco hadn't understood what he was doing. "But you know we had no chance of being able to take him away once he chose to stay. Confused or not, his decision stands. Even if it didn't, that would only mean that we'd have to follow Potter's wishes instead."

"He was just as addled-"

"He didn't look it," Narcissa reminded him. "He looked and sounded lucid."

"As far as that insufferable boy could ever look lucid," Snape muttered.

"You didn't even try to convince Draco to change his mind," Lucius accused Narcissa.

"I couldn't, not with others there."

"You couldn't because you were relieved that he'd decided to stay," Lucius said grimly.

Snape tensed, abruptly wishing very much that he were somewhere else, anywhere else, where he wouldn't have to be here to witness an argument between the Malfoys.

Narcissa swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and met her husband's eyes nervously. "Y-yes, I was. I don't think you're thinking enough about Draco. I..." Her jaw trembled but she steadied herself and went on. "I think you're placing too high a priority on what the Dark Lord will think. You should be more concerned with your own son's welfare."

"I was. I am. You are worried about the danger of trying to break his bond; have you stopped to think of the danger of him remaining bound to our Lord's mortal enemy? I  _am_  thinking of his welfare-" Lucius' voice broke and he immediately pressed his lips together and turned away from them.

Snape looked away, uncomfortable at witnessing Lucius' fear finally breaking through his façade of calm, cold disregard. Waited for him to pull himself together, knowing that Lucius would not forgive either of them if they pressed him to speak before he'd collected himself. Because a Malfoy did not show doubts or fears, not even when his only son was at death's door.

Damn Lucius anyway, thought Snape impatiently. It was past time for him to remember that he was a father before he was a Malfoy, for once in his life.

Privately Snape had often thought that Lucius, whatever his talents at business, politics and magic, was a piss-poor parent. His combination of ludicrous spoiling, emotional neglect, and unthinkable harshness towards Draco had produced a boy who had far more in common with Potter than any of them cared to admit. Much brighter, but with the same arrogant assumption that everything would be arranged to his liking, because most things were. And, like Potter, utterly lacking in self-discipline and character. Not fit, in any way, to eventually become the head of a powerful wizarding family, or to lead anybody in the wizarding world - any more than Potter was fit to lead anybody into battle against Voldemort. A useless, spoiled boy, quickly becoming a useless, spoiled young man, with a host of insecurities covered by rudeness and meanness. As much as Snape cared for the boy, he couldn't blind himself to his many faults.

And Lucius, most of the time, didn't seem to give a damn. Whenever he wasn't showing ridiculous pride or utter contempt for his son, he showed absolute disinterest, and devoted himself to more interesting pursuits such as being Voldemort's right hand.

And now here he was. Forced to take an interest in Draco in order to save his life. And he couldn't even do that without tying it in to Voldemort somehow.

Snape lowered his eyes as Lucius finally turned around again, his control visibly fragile. Because poor parent though he was, he did love his son, in his own inadequate way. He was worried. It was killing him. He was more angry and frustrated and scared than Snape could ever remember him being.

Lucius spoke quietly but intensely to Narcissa. "The only protection Draco has as long as he's bonded to Potter is us. We need to stay in the Dark Lord's graces, for Draco's sake. And you know he will not forgive us for this. Harry Potter is dying, and we are going to enter into a healing circle to save him? Not to mention risk divulging secrets about the Dark Lord and his followers? There is no way that we can take that step without it being seen as betrayal."

"You don't have much of a choice if you want Draco to live," Snape said bluntly, and Lucius looked away, nervously chewing on his lip as Snape hadn't seen him do since he was a young man.

"Does participating in this spell not pose a problem for you as well, Severus?" Narcissa asked.

"My instructions are to take part in whatever heroics are demanded of me. I will of course try to get as much information as I can about the others during the spell, although I doubt there will be anything there that I don't already know. But it will be a good opportunity to see if I can get anything new out of Potter. And possibly Dumbledore as well."

"That doddering old fool will be trying to do the same with Draco," Lucius said. "With all of us, probably."

"I doubt it. He's a noble Gryffindor," Narcissa said scornfully.

"He's as devious as any Slytherin," Snape said. "That's probably why he hates us so much. And he will be trying to probe our minds, I think. If he can."

"I find it unbelievable that he was suggested as one of the 'neutral' participants," Lucius said. "Everybody knows how he feels about Potter."

"There wasn't anybody else," Narcissa said wearily. "We tried, Lucius." She touched his arm and he drew away. She cleared her throat. "In any case, he won't get much useful information about us from Draco," she said reasonably. "And our thoughts won't be as visible as his; it's mostly Draco's mind that will be laid bare for the others to see."

"Yes, 'the others'," Lucius repeated scornfully. "Mudbloods and Weasleys and werewolves."

"A Mudblood and a Weasley and a werewolf are going to save your son's life, Lucius," Snape said bluntly. "Distasteful as the idea may be, you may as well accept it. And be grateful that it's only one of the Weasleys; the youngest daughter was a candidate for Potter's side, as were Weasleys Senior, standing in as Potter's parents."

"I also don't trust that Zabini child," Lucius said.

"He has to be there," Narcissa said. "We need people with precognitive gifts, and unfortunately the only ones with even a glimmer of them are Blaise, Dumbledore and Pomfrey. And even they aren't strong enough in the Sight to really be Seers."

"And his family has never definitively allied itself to the Dark Lord," said Snape. "They're less likely to object to him participating in the spell."

"What about Parkinson's daughter? Her family has always stood with ours, but Draco didn't tell her how close he was to collapse."

"Draco trusts her... as much as he can trust anybody," Snape said.

"We did consider Crabbe or Goyle," Narcissa said, "But they're not terribly powerful magically. And we weren't sure their fathers would allow them."

"They would, if I told them to," Lucius said. He narrowed his eyes. "They would. Actually, one of them could take my place; it would be perfectly understandable for one of them to want to help a school friend, and we could tell the Dark Lord that by substituting one of them for me, we thought the spell might not work-"

"We could tell him that because it's true. They aren't powerful enough. Without you in the circle, Draco will die," Narcissa said desperately. "Lucius... we don't have anybody else. This spell needs people with strong ties to both of them to work. If Blaise or Pansy back out, we might be able to replace them with another friend of Draco's. But if you do... you and I have the strongest ties to Draco. The circle is already in danger of not being powerful enough because Potter doesn't have parents to join in, to provide the kind of strength we have. We can't lose you."

"You must decide, Lucius," Snape broke in brusquely. "It is literally your son or your Lord. And you are running out of time."

**ooooooo**

"I will bring each of you in, one at a time," Esposito told them calmly some hours later in a large room in the Astronomy Tower, as all thirteen gathered in two circles around Malfoy and Harry, the inner circle composed of Esposito, Pomfrey and Dumbledore, the outer one composed of the ten other members. "You will speak the ritual words and concentrate on creating a strong circle, paying special attention to the person you are partnered with. Once the circles are steady, we will attempt the balancing spell and you will concentrate on the paired elements as we name them. Are you ready?"

They all nodded. No more time for last-minute checks to see if they were doing this right. No more time to second-guess themselves, move anybody around, rearrange the pairings. This would either work, or it wouldn't.

Esposito lifted her wand and began the process, bringing Pomfrey and Dumbledore's magic into a circle with her, thin streams of light joining their wands together.

"Speak your name," Esposito told Hermione. Hermione took a quick breath and cleared her mind, lifted her wand and fleetingly wished that her previous experience with group spells had been just a little more extensive than a few simple water-controlling tricks in sixth-year Charms and a few collaborative spells in an extracurricular Musical Magic class two years ago.

"I am Hermione Granger and I join my magic to yours," she said. A thin stream of light came from her wand and slowly drifted towards the light from Esposito's wand.

"Speak your name."

"I am Pansy Parkinson," said the voice next to Hermione, and Hermione didn't turn to look at her as she concentrated on Esposito's wand. "And I join my magic to yours."

Concentrate, Hermione told herself as the names went on and more lights were joined. Minerva McGonagall. Blaise Zabini. Ron Weasley...

"Speak your name," said Esposito, her voice betraying not the slightest bit of trepidation as the trickiest part of the spell casting began.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," Malfoy's mother said softly, and Hermione steeled herself as Narcissa's light joined the circle, then slowly connected, with a slight... tug... to Hermione's light. Hermione felt an odd connection to Narcissa, her partner in the circle. Felt her nervousness, her hesitancy. Her discomfort.

Was this what it had felt like for Harry to find himself bound to Malfoy? This uneasy awareness of somebody else's thoughts and emotions inside your head? This unpleasant sensation of being connected to somebody you found distasteful? Hermione could almost touch Narcissa's instinctive disgust, almost see word 'Mudblood' floating in space between them.

It felt incredibly strange. But the link was holding. It was working.

One pairing down, four more to go.

"I am Neville Longbottom and I join my magic to yours," said Neville nervously, and his light joined the circle and then, after an agonizing pause, joined Parkinson's, their connection weak and unclear, but there.

Two down. Severus Snape joined McGonagall, Remus Lupin joined Zabini, and then...

"I am Lucius Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," the cold voice beside Hermione said, and Hermione closed her eyes, unwilling to see Ron's pale face as he braced for their magic to be joined, feeling Narcissa's almost frantic struggle to remain calm as they all waited for the last connection to be made.

And waited.

Hermione opened her eyes, met Ron's across the circle, saw that he was concentrating with all his strength on the web of light, a bead of sweat trickling into one eye, silently mouthing something, and she could feel him trying to reach for Lucius, to bring him in to the circle...

And Lucius wasn't coming. This was going to fail before it had even begun, because Lucius Malfoy wouldn't - or couldn't - join into a circle of his enemies, not even to save his son's life.

Panic was starting to flow through to Hermione from Narcissa, and she desperately tried to steady them both.

Please, please, please, she found herself thinking, please, don't let this fail, please, please...

Esposito moved the inner circle, shifting them slightly so that Lucius had a clear view of Malfoy and Harry, and Hermione couldn't help the small gasp escaping her. They both looked so fragile. The lights and shadows from the wands flickered over their pale features as they slept on, oblivious to the world around them. Harry's glasses gone, his scar sharp against his forehead. Malfoy's lips slightly parted, his eyes deeply shadowed. He sighed, turned his face slightly towards Harry, drawn to him even at this late stage of their decline.

Hermione heard a deep breath from beside her, and a steady stream of light slowly arced from Lucius Malfoy across the circle, finally connecting to Ron's light.

"We are a circle," Esposito intoned calmly, "and we call upon ancient magic, magic of balance, of the harmony of the earth. We call upon ancient magic to right what is wrong, to bring balance to chaos."

"We call upon joy and upon sorrow," Dumbledore said, and Hermione closed her eyes again, thinking as hard she could about both, and was suddenly completely thrown off as a dizzying array of images came hurtling towards her.

Oh, this was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be, she thought with dismay. Somehow she had to keep her thoughts clear and make her own balance, think of some of her most joyous and most miserable memories. Like a Patronus, only twice as hard. And  _not_ think about the images that were leaking through the circle to her, most of them fragmentary and distractingly difficult to pin down.

That young man sadly watching Mandy Brocklehurst walk away from him, that had to be Neville, last year. And that cell in Azkaban - that had to be a memory from Lucius. But the small blond boy, laughing in delight as his father spun him around - was that Malfoy? And was it a memory from Malfoy himself, or from one of his parents?

And the Seeker in green and silver, holding a Quidditch Cup high - who was that? It certainly wasn't Draco or Lucius Malfoy, or any Slytherin Hermione knew; it looked like a girl, and the robes were of a very old design, straight from Hogwarts: A History.

A teenage boy lying on a bed, his room in squalor around him, disinterestedly chewing on something and dropping its wrapper onto the floor, an ache in his chest and the image of Sirius Black falling into a shimmering veil replaying in his mind over and over again - that was Harry, no question. Probably not a memory that he would've wanted to share with the rest of them, but Harry didn't have any control over what images his mind came up with right now, any more than he did during dreams.

And there was a small child, hiding where his father couldn't find him, because he wasn't supposed to be crying, because a Malfoy didn't cry over something as silly as having his pet kneazle Crucioed in front of him, especially if he deserved it, because he couldn't learn how to make the doors open and close using his magic, and a Malfoy was supposed to be good at this kind of thing-

That was probably nothing that any of the Malfoys had wanted anybody to see. Hermione tried to clear her thoughts, pushing her own images of joy and sorrow to the front of her mind, trying to see only them. The day Ron had first told her he loved her. The day she'd received a letter telling her that her grandmother was dead, and realized she hadn't seen her in years, because she'd been too busy with school and had left the Muggle world behind. Her own memories, vivid and real and balanced out.

"We call upon light and upon dark," Pomfrey said, the formal words sounding odd in her no-nonsense voice, and Hermione breathed in deeply, prepared for the onslaught of images from the others this time. A flash of light from Harry's wand as a shining stag-shaped Patronus sprang into being, and the darkness of the third-floor corridor during her first year; those were her memories. A brilliant sunlit sky over the lake, seen from a broom - that was probably Harry's. But whose image was that, of a small sallow-skinned boy hiding in a totally dark room, cold and hungry and afraid, listening to his parents scream at each other and not daring to emerge? And whose image was that, of tousled black hair next to almost-white, so close together? It was from the Gryffindor boys' dorm, and the memory itself was most probably Harry and Malfoy, sleeping, so it had to come from Neville or Ron, but she couldn't tell which one.

"We call upon male and upon female," Esposito intoned, and Hermione thought of her mother and father and sighed gratefully upon realizing that almost all the thoughts she was aware of were of people's parents. Although Snape's parents... what an unattractive couple. And the stunning black woman who closely resembled Blaise Zabini was... disturbing. Her image kept flickering between her face, and that of a black widow spider.

A particularly handsome young man in Quidditch robes, broom in hand, smiled indulgently and chucked a vivacious, adoring first year girl under the chin - and Hermione suppressed a hysterical giggle as she realized that the girl strongly resembled Professor McGonagall. McGonagall's first crush. Well. That was unexpected.

And there was Hermione herself, at the first Yule Ball she'd attended, with Viktor Krum - oh. That was Ron's memory. The first time, he'd admitted once, that he'd ever really noticed that she was a girl.

"We call upon past and upon future," Dumbledore said, and Hermione recalled one of her earliest memories, her parents swinging her between them on a beach, her tiny feet barely touching the waves. And she gulped at an image of Bellatrix Lestrange, young and coldly beautiful, sneering at a girl who looked a lot like Tonks. Narcissa's sister Andromeda, presumably. A pint-sized Draco pulled a mini-Pansy's hair, and Pansy waved a stick at him and yelled Crucio to no effect, then hit him with the stick, with somewhat more satisfying results. A serious young man talked to a teacher on a staircase, about Hogwarts closing and having no place else to go. Who was that? And whose memory was it?

The future - that was a little harder, but she opened her mind to whatever images chanced to come from the three members of their circle with any kind of precognitive powers. Blurry, confusing images. Laughter that sounded like Ron's, but somehow deeper. A hallway into a nursery, a dark-skinned child sleeping in a crib. A Quidditch field, quick flash of a smile that looked like Harry's, and eyes that looked oddly familiar, sparkling with humour and affection. A Dark Mark in the sky.

She shuddered, firmly keeping the link going, trying not to dwell on the fact that she could feel Narcissa recoiling from that Mark.

"We call upon pain and upon pleasure," said Pomfrey.

A purple flame from a Death Eater's wand passed across Hermione's chest, and she went down at the Department of Mysteries, pain splitting her open. Narcissa Malfoy groaned in pain, so vivid Hermione's eyes popped open - but Narcissa was still standing across the circle, eyes closed, face blank, her groans only a memory. Hermione closed her eyes again, hearing whispered encouragement from a birthing-witch, "The pain is good, there is powerful magic for women who have endured the pain of childbirth, there is power here for women, power that men can't even dream of..."

Then incredible pleasure as Narcissa held Draco for the first time.

Incredible pleasure as Neville first kissed Mandy Brocklehurst.

Two trembling boys in bloodstained shirts, hesitantly kissing for the first time in the sitting room next to Dumbledore's office, quickly becoming overwhelmed with each other, and Hermione wondered which one of them was remembering that one. And - oh. A somewhat more private moment, again one that neither one would ever want to broadcast to anybody, let alone a group that included parents and teachers, but there it was, and Hermione dazedly blocked out the sound of waves crashing on a shore as Draco drew Harry closer, encouraging him - oh, god, Hermione firmly turned her mind away with a wrench and tried instead to concentrate on something else, surely there was somebody with a more appropriate memory floating out there-

But not the one that slammed into her next with stunning force - two of them, actually, Dark Marks cutting and burning into flesh, shrieks of agony torn from two throats, and she dimly recognized a much younger Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, and shuddered to think that either could follow somebody who could do something like that to them-

And another scream as human flesh turned into fur, and bones cracked and stretched and fangs descended-

A different kind of scream, as Pansy Parkinson arched into the embrace of a boy who might have been Anthony Goldstein-

This was quickly spiralling out of control-

"We call upon heat and upon cold," came the rather bizarre intonation from Esposito, and Hermione gratefully recalled what they were doing as she thought of skiing with her parents in the Alps and then of a cup of hot cocoa.

How completely and utterly unreal. From Dark Marks and werewolf transformations and sex to hot cocoa. And Narcissa casually murmuring a cooling spell as she walked through the gardens of a lovely wizarding estate somewhere in India, if the vegetation and the somewhat old-fashioned saris of the witches around her were any indication. And then Narcissa shivering in a courtyard at Azkaban, waiting to be let in to see her husband.

And finally...

"We call upon love and upon hate," Dumbledore said, and Hermione tensed. They had debated whether to use this pair at all, given the volatility of the people who were going to be in the circle, but it was a powerful pairing, and... well... they needed power.

Love. Hermione could think of love easily. Love for her parents, and Ron, and Harry, and her grandmother, and Ginny, and all the Weasleys. And Narcissa of course thought of Draco, and of Lucius, and of people Hermione assumed were her parents. And with a spark of surprise, Hermione felt love from Pomfrey, for the scores and scores of children who had come to her with their aches and pains over the years...

... and a sea of freckles and red hair, well that was hardly a surprise...

... and... a glimpse of the future? Felt like it, anyway. A hard decision to be made, and a young man walked out of a classroom determinedly, pulled in two different directions by love, making his choice...

... and a little boy lived in a closet under the stairs, and felt the hatred and resentment of the people who were supposed to love him, felt the hatred and contempt of a huge boy who pushed and hit and bullied him, and hated them all right back, helpless hatred growing bitter and hard, crying his hatred into his pillow at night, not wanting to feel it but not knowing how to stop it...

... and another boy, gawky and serious, hated a pair of smiling, handsome boys who were just so smooth, so arrogant, the one with the glasses and the one with the rakish grin, his hatred choking him as he watched them laughing together on the lawn...

... and Harry hated Snape, hated him down to his bones, and the feeling was returned tenfold...

... and hatred boiled up, for Snape and for Voldemort, and Hermione knew that was from Ron, and the hatred touched all those who followed Voldemort, and Hermione gasped as Lucius Malfoy's face became the focus of Ron's hatred, for almost taking his sister from him back in second year - oh, god, Ron and Lucius were supposed to be paired in this circle, but now the hatred was being returned, from Lucius towards all Weasleys and blood traitors, and then hatred from Neville to Lucius and Narcissa and Draco, for being related to the woman who'd taken his parents from him, and then from Pansy to Neville for being weak, for being an embarrassment to all purebloods, from Pansy to Hermione for being a Mudblood bitch who hated and mistrusted her, and from Pansy to Harry, for what he was doing to Draco, and Hermione recognized with horror that her own hatred was being drawn out of her and towards Pansy and towards Draco, for hurting Harry, for - images spinning out of control, Harry hating Draco and Draco hating him right back, Harry for things Draco had said about Sirius, about Cedric Diggory, Draco for Harry putting his father into Azkaban, and the lines of light above them crackled and threatened to erupt, how could they have been so stupid, no matter how powerful the pairing of love and hate could be, they shouldn't have risked it, not with this group of people, it was too strong, which was precisely why they'd felt they had to use it but it wasn't controllable, as Harry and Draco hated each other for being tied together, suffocated by one another, reliving the fight in the Great Hall, a window shattering and blood pouring from them both, and Lucius hated Harry for what he was doing to his son, hated him enough to kill-

**"NO!!"**  Frantic desperation battered at them all and Hermione recognized Ron's voice, grabbing hold of his hatred and reining it in, for Harry's sake. Quickly backed up by Esposito and Dumbledore and Pomfrey, pushing with him to rein in Lucius Malfoy's rage, for Draco's sake. And just like that, Snape was there too, and Pansy, and then one by one the rest of them were falling in, bringing each other back to the circle, until finally they were all concentrated on Draco and Harry, the two members of the circle with the most reason to hate and the least control over what they were feeling. Hermione pushed away their images of anger and resentment and their desperate desire to get away from one another, replacing them with the images she'd seen in the circle and in the last few weeks, gasping with relief as the memories came flooding in from all sides: Draco and Harry asleep in the Gryffindor boys' dorm; kissing in Dumbledore's office; flying together above the lake; together in their bedroom; Draco kneeling and holding on to Harry in the corridor outside the Potions classroom...

And slowly the crackling lines of magic were dying down, becoming smooth and clear again.

Esposito took a deep breath, and they all gathered themselves, preparing to end the spell.

"I release you, Lucius Malfoy, from the circle," Esposito said quietly, and the light from Lucius' wand slowly died down as he lowered it, breathless and panting, sitting down heavily into the nearest chair and closing his eyes.

"I release you, Remus Lupin, from the circle," she said, and Lupin slowly lowered his wand, his arms trembling. As did Snape and Neville in their turn, Neville leaning against the wall and putting his head back while Snape walked to the window and rested his forehead against it, staring blankly out at the Quidditch pitch.

"I release you, Narcissa Malfoy, from the circle," said Esposito, and Hermione felt her bond to Narcissa shimmer and disappear as the rest of the members of the circle were freed one by one, all of them shaking with the after-effects of the spell, trying to regain their strength. She breathed a sigh of relief as she was finally released and almost fell into Ron's arms, his heartbeat still racing but his arms warm and steady around her.

And then there was nothing more to do. Except wait and see whether or not the spell had worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an e-mail from chibitoaster one day, telling me she liked Bond and asking if she could illustrate it.
> 
> !!! said I.
> 
> She provided a link to her site:
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/
> 
> !!!!!!!!! said I. And wow, and a bunch of other assorted noises of admiration. Oh, and Yes of course and I'd be honoured and Thank you - I said that too :)
> 
> So she got started, and has been very, very busy.
> 
> Wanna see?
> 
> Cover illustration:  
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/bond_cover_f.jpg
> 
> Ch 1, The happy newlyweds:  
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/bonded_ch1.jpg
> 
> Ch 3, Having a liittle trouble concentrating in Potions class:  
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/potions_class.jpg
> 
> Ch 5, Dumbledore's sitting room, first kiss:  
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/h-dkiss_2.jpg
> 
> Ch 9, That Scene At The End Of The Chapter, Decidedly Not Work Safe:  
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/h-dsmex_1.jpg


	12. November 6 - November 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kyllikki, who basically made me re-write this chapter, which was a very, very Good Thing ;)

****  
**Day 39, Friday** ****  


Somebody was moving. Hermione raised her heavy head, blearily looking towards the bed.

Harry sighed in his sleep, turned onto his side, and was still again, his brow furrowing slightly for a moment before smoothing out. Beside him, Malfoy stirred but remained asleep as well.

Hermione lay her head back on her chair, grateful that unlike Muggle bedside vigils, wizard vigils were made a little easier by the simple expedience of being able to transfigure the seats into whatever you needed to remain comfortable - or to sleep, in Ron and Narcissa Malfoy's cases.

Only Hermione and Lucius remained awake - Hermione because she was still frazzled by the events of the last few days and the aftermath of the healing spell, and Lucius for unknown reasons of his own. They didn't need to be awake. They didn't even need to be here. Esposito was keeping watch over Harry and Malfoy and she would be sure to get them when either of them woke up.

It was a question of  _when_ , and not  _if_ , Hermione repeated to herself. Still not quite able to believe it. She probably wouldn't until she saw them both up and back to themselves.

Malfoy stirred, turned onto his side and put his arm over Harry, tucking himself around Harry as Harry murmured something and settled into his embrace.

The members of the circle had remained in the large Astronomy Tower room for some time after the spell-casting, recovering and conversing in low voices while Esposito and the other Healers hovered over Harry and Malfoy. At one point Esposito had looked up and motioned to Hermione to move closer. Started to point something out to her, then stopped herself and called Narcissa over as well.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm showing Miss Granger this because she has expressed an interest and an affinity for Healing, but you should also see it. These are lines of power here, here, and here." She pointed to faint glowing lines that the Healers had created on Harry and Malfoy's bodies, near centres of magic: hands, heart, temples. "Miss Granger, you may remember they were looking dull and sluggish, showing a dampening down of their Life magic. They are now running relatively bright and clear."

Narcissa had stared at the glowing lines. "Does... does that mean it worked?"

"We believe so, yes."

"When will they wake up?"

"They'll need to sleep for a while. But this a natural sleep, resting them instead of draining them. They should be awake in a few hours."

Even though Esposito had only been speaking to the two of them, their relief had spread instantly through the room. Narcissa stared at her son for a long time before turning and very calmly walking back to Lucius, who led her into the small office adjoining the room. The others talked quietly amongst themselves, exchanging a few hugs and smiles. The Malfoys returned about ten minutes later, and although both looked quite composed, Narcissa's slightly reddened eyes and roughened voice indicated that she'd probably had a bit of a breakdown in private. She and Lucius formally thanked all the members of the circle for having taken part in it, reserving their warmest thanks for Snape, Zabini and Parkinson, and one by one the others took their leave until only Hermione, Ron, and the Malfoys remained. They'd fallen into an uneasy silent truce, taking their seats on opposite sides of the bed and settling in for the night.

Hermione glanced up as there was another movement from the bed. Harry, turning onto his back. She held her breath as his eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

Malfoy's eyes blinked open and he made a low sound in his throat. Harry turned to him and their eyes met for a long moment, then Malfoy slowly lifted his hand and brushed Harry's hair back from his face.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked quietly.

"All right. You?"

"Yeah." Harry's hand came up to clasp Malfoy's, then he turned so they were facing each other. Hermione realized that she and Lucius were seeing what they'd waited all night to see and should have been getting up to talk to them, but were instead both remaining silent. She didn't want to interrupt Harry and Malfoy. And apparently, neither did Lucius. Their eyes met briefly before Lucius turned his attention back to them, an expression she couldn't decipher on his features.

Harry and Malfoy were focussed only on one another, Malfoy's eyes searching Harry's for something that he apparently found, because he let out his breath and pulled Harry close to him, burying his face in Harry's hair. Harry's hand cupped Malfoy's cheek, his thumb slowly caressing his jaw.

"We're all right," Harry murmured after a moment, and Malfoy nodded.

"I know. It's just-"

"Yeah. I know." Harry cleared his throat, pulled back slightly. "Where are my glasses?"

"Accio glasses," Malfoy murmured, chuckling, caught them and handed them to Harry.

"How are you feeling, gentlemen?" Esposito asked, and Hermione jumped. She hadn't realized Esposito was right next to her.

Harry and Malfoy let go of one another reluctantly and turned towards her. Not startled; merely as though they'd known they weren't alone, but just hadn't bothered to look for anybody else.

"All right," said Malfoy.

"Hungry," said Harry, and Esposito chuckled.

"Sit up then, let's have a look at you. Are you also hungry, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, and Malfoy nodded, slowly sitting up. "Excellent. You should be. You've had nothing to eat since Wednesday, and precious little before then, I'll wager."

Lucius stood up, clearing his throat. "You're looking better," he said quietly, as Malfoy turned to him. "Your mother will be pleased." He leaned down and touched Narcissa's shoulder. "He's awake."

Narcissa awoke with a start and stared at Malfoy, a little stunned.

"Hello Mother." He gave her a small smile, then turned his attention back to Esposito. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you're feeling any pain, nausea, headache-" and she rattled off a list of symptoms as she waved her wand over both of them. "Sorry," she said briskly over her shoulder to Hermione and the Malfoys, "I'll just get through their exam as quickly as possible, then leave you to yourselves. Miss Granger, why don't you wake up Mr. Weasley. Yes, yes, I'm sure this is just a formality, you both look perfectly healthy, I'd just like to cover all the bases and then we'll get you some breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Harry asked, a little disoriented, looking for the windows and seeming to notice for the first time that he wasn't in the hospital wing.

"Close enough to it. It's five in the morning."

"What day?" Malfoy asked.

"Friday." Esposito chuckled slightly at the surprise on both faces. "Yes, you gave us all quite a scare," Esposito said dryly. "How much do you remember?"

Malfoy shrugged. "A fair bit, I think," he said. Harry nodded.

"Such as?"

"Memories," Harry said.

"A lot of memories," Malfoy added quietly.

Esposito gave them a measuring look, then nodded and cleared her throat. "Well. I think your parents and your friends would like to reassure themselves that you're all right for a bit, and then they'll go and have a proper rest so that we can go over the rest of your medical exams. Right?"

And as she woke up Ron and they spent a few minutes with Harry before being shooed out of the room by Esposito, Hermione thought that they seemed... different. Like the two of them were on one side of a huge divide that the rest of them couldn't quite bridge. She wondered if Ron felt it - and if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy felt it too.

**ooooooo**

**Day 40, Saturday**

It's going to be nice to get the hell out of the hospital again, thought Draco as his mother began yet another long and involved tale about a recent society party. Not that he was normally averse to the topic; it was part of politics, after all. But his mother did tend to focus on the trivial; the one-upmanship of fashion and who had the most elaborate decoration charms, the most obedient and accomplished house elves, and other things of rather limited importance.

Unfortunately, right now, being confined to the hospital wing, there wasn't really much he could do to get her to stop talking. Couldn't make an excuse like having to go to class or Quidditch practice, and he was still too unsettled by the healing circle and its aftermath to be able to steer the conversation at all. His mother had been here for a few hours and looked good to stay through dinner, with her long party stories. What fun.

Mother wasn't normally this obsessed with trivialities, he thought as she prattled on. Part of her superficiality today was probably due to her own unease after the healing circle, and part to the presence of Potter and his friends over by the window, but it was still incredibly irritating. Fashion was not what he wanted her to talk about. He'd gathered that their family's status had changed irrevocably with his father's entry into the circle, but he didn't know where they stood now - whether Father would still try to remain allied to Voldemort, or actively curry favour with the other side, or just lie low until he figured out where to go next. It was incredibly annoying to hear about the cut of Mrs. Crabbe's new robes from Madam Malkin's, instead of what he really wanted to know.

His mother paused as Potter came closer.

"Excuse me. Malfoy? You said you wanted to watch the Slytherin Quidditch practice? They're starting." He nodded towards the window.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," Draco said unenthusiastically. Quidditch. A welcome break from the stories, but not something he particularly wanted to see.

His mother pursed her lips and frowned at Potter slightly as Draco stood up. "Mr. Potter, is it customary to address a spouse by his or her last name in the Muggle world?"

Potter blinked, a little startled as Mother spoke to him for what Draco realized was the first time. "Er - no."

"Then why do you address my son in that manner?" she asked, rather frostily.

Draco frowned. "We both do, Mother."

"It might be somewhat more appropriate for you to call one another by your first names, Draco."

"Appropriate for what?" Potter asked, and Draco shook his head at him, indicating that he should just drop the subject. His mother merely pursed her lips again and moved towards the door.

"You're leaving?"

"I have no particular fondness for Quidditch, you know that, Draco," she said. "Please, enjoy yourselves. I shall visit Severus."

"What was that about?" Potter asked as Draco joined him and Ron and Ginny Weasley at the window.

"Not sure. Although... I think my mother may have just told me part of what I wanted to know," Draco said absently as they watched Edmund Carmichael, the sixth-year who'd taken over the Slytherin captaincy, start his players on the warm-up drills. He tried to focus on the team at the pitch, and not on how uneasy he still felt in Ron Weasley's presence after the spell.

Ugh, hopeless. All three Chasers were executing particularly sloppy rolls, and Carmichael was doing nothing to correct them.

"They're not doing well without you," Potter remarked. "And what d'you mean, what you wanted to know?"

Draco shook his head at him, flicking his eyes at the Weasleys. Potter nodded, getting the message. "I was getting them trained just fine before the bond," Draco said. "But Carmichael doesn't understand how to handle the Chasers, and Baddock is a disaster as a Seeker."

"Yeah, last week wasn't the best game I've ever seen," Weasley's sister said.

Draco winced. Much as he disliked Malcolm Baddock, Slytherin losing 10-190 to Hufflepuff last week was mortifying. He'd wanted them to miss him as Seeker and Captain, not fall apart completely. Good thing he'd been too ill to attend - or even notice or care - at the time.

"You didn't damage him permanently, did you?" he asked Potter.

"Who, Baddock?" Potter grinned. "No. I doubt it would've made any difference, though."

"Damage him?" Weasley asked.

"Potter hexed him two days before the match."

"How?"

Potter shrugged. "Nothing permanent." The Weasleys waited. "Screaming Scrotalpox," he finally admitted, a little sheepish.

"Harry!" Ginny Weasley said admiringly and her brother laughed. "Why?"

"Long story," Potter said, shaking his head.

"Where was this?"

"Slytherin common room."

"And they didn't kill you?" Weasley's eyebrows shot up.

"Bulstrode gave him a butterbeer." Draco smiled at Potter, who grinned back.

"She did, yeah."

"I think Owsley wanted to kiss you. She's hated Baddock ever since he ditched her for a Ravenclaw."

Potter laughed and looked back out at the pitch, leaning back against Draco comfortably.

"Oh, for the - look at him, he's not even watching the Beaters for - please tell me you're doing better than him," Potter said to Weasley, who had taken over as Gryffindor Captain.

"I hope so," he said. "And you know Ginny's a good Seeker. But Dean's having trouble with the new Chaser. We miss you."

"Hopefully not as much as they miss Malfoy." Potter indicated the Slytherin team, which was fumbling its way through a Porskoff Ploy.

"I can't watch this," Draco said in disbelief as Baddock almost fell off his broom, "and yet I can't look away either."

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Weasley said happily.

"When d'you think you two will be able to play again?" Ginny Weasley asked, and Draco and Potter both looked at her, startled.

"Play?"

"Well the bond will wear down eventually. When do you suppose you'll be able to be in the air on your own again?"

"Oh. I don't know..." said Potter.

"As soon as you can, we want you back," Weasley told Potter. "I'm loads better than Carmichael, but I'm no Captain, and Ginny wants to get back to Chasing."

"You'd just hand over the captaincy?" Draco asked him.

"Harry was picked for it, not me."

"Why, won't you go back to your team?" Ginny asked.

Draco frowned. "No. Maybe. I don't know. It depends."

"On what?" Weasley asked.

"On whether they let me back in or not," he said curtly.

"But-"

"Ron." Potter's voice held a gentle admonition to back off, and Draco was grateful that Potter seemed to understand enough to not make him spell it out.

Yes, he wanted to play again. He'd thought about it often before their bond had started slowly killing them. But now... it would depend on the good will of the Captain and the rest of the team, and to get that good will, he'd need to have power to put pressure on them. And who knew if he had any right now.

"You were the bloody team Captain, for Merlin's sake; why wouldn't they let you play again?" Weasley asked, clearly not hearing Potter's unspoken request to tread carefully.

"It's not that simple," he said impatiently.  _Weasleys._  Thick as mud, all of them. He'd best clarify his family's current political position as soon as possible, he thought irritably, because he refused to go to the trouble of trying to get along with Weasleys unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

"Well, you'll be coming back, Harry," Weasley said staunchly, contempt for Slytherins clear in his voice. "We decide things on talent and on what's fair." Draco rolled his eyes.

"You'll be able to do all sorts of things after the bond settles, you know," Ginny said. "You might even be able to go to your Astronomy classes more than every other day."

"D'you think you'll still get to keep your private quarters after you don't need them any more?" Weasley asked.

Draco was a bit taken aback, as was Potter. He hadn't thought of that. "I'm not giving that up without a fight," Draco said. "It's one of the only perks of this damn thing."

"Hey!"

"I didn't say it was the only perk," he said defensively, before realizing that Potter wasn't offended and was in fact amused at his mild embarrassment.

A sentiment apparently not shared by Ginny Weasley, who frowned at him slightly and casually commented, "You'll be able to date other people too, Harry, I'm sure that'll be a relief."

Draco's eyebrows went up and he sensed Potter's mild annoyance at Ginny. He put a hand on Potter's arm. "Oh, yeah," he spoke around Potter to Ginny. "That's another reason to keep the private quarters. We're planning on being disgracefully unfaithful as soon as possible. We're going to have a competition to see who can sleep with more people within a month of being able to. Potter'll need all the help he can get, though, so I do hope you'll be a friend and pitch in." Potter choked back a laugh at Ginny's expression, but he elbowed Draco lightly.

"Malfoy," he murmured warningly. "Play nice."

"Actually," Weasley said, to Draco's relief, "we'd better go. We have practice next. We'll see you later, Harry."

"Yeah, see you later," Potter said as they left the hospital.

"All right, what was that thing with your mother, then?" he asked after they were gone.

"Not sure. I think, though, that... that things have changed. With my family," he clarified, still watching Carmichael.

"Changed how?"

"I'm not sure. She wouldn't say much, but..." he trailed off, frowning at the players.

"I'm not getting the subtle Slytherinness of this, Malfoy," Potter prodded him after a moment.

"I'm sure it's occurred even to you that what with my parents coming into the circle, things have changed."

"I'm sure."

"Well, they... they have to figure out where to go from here."

There was a long silence, finally broken by Potter. "I can't imagine Voldemort's terribly happy with your father."

Draco's stomach gave a small lurch. "I'd rather you not use his name, if you don't mind," he said to cover his discomfort at Potter's sudden bluntness.

"That is what you're talking about, isn't it?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Yes."

There was a long silence. Not surprising, as it had taken over a month to even get to this much honesty between them.

"And I don't know what that means," Draco finally admitted. "I don't know if it means he's... out, or what."

"What do you want it to mean?"

"What should that matter?" Draco asked, honestly puzzled.

"Your wishes don't have anything to do with your family's political position? You're one third of it!"

Draco looked away from Potter's indignant expression. "I'd rather not discuss my wishes with you."

"Why not?"

'You won't like what I have to say."

"I see." Potter's voice was very quiet as he stepped away from Draco and turned to look out the window again.

Draco crossed his arms defensively, unexpectedly upset at the abrupt physical and emotional distance between them. "Potter... it's not just about... about the Dark Lord. It's - my father wouldn't follow anybody without some good reasons-"

"What good reasons? Your father gets off on random mayhem and murder and torture, does he?"

Draco started to move away from the window, realizing that this was absolutely not anything he should have started to talk about. Potter grabbed his shoulder, opened his mouth to say something angry - then snapped it shut and visibly got a hold of himself.

"All right." Potter took a deep breath. "Sorry. It's probably not a good idea for me to say anything right now." He cleared his throat. "Go ahead. What's going on with your family? And why does what your mother said have anything to do with it?"

Draco gathered himself and took another deep breath. "My parents know that sometimes things don't go as you wish," he said carefully, "and you have to adapt and make the best of what you've got. They've had to do this before, when the Dark Lord fell the first time, and when Father was arrested."

Potter nodded.

"When you can't... can't rely on the alliances and connections you had, you have to make new ones. You have to be able to rise again. Father's not one to just accept defeat."

"No, I suppose not," Potter said, watching a dejected-looking Carmichael lead his team off the pitch. "The last time your father had to switch sides, he said he'd been under an Imperius curse. I assume he's bright enough to know nobody will fall for that one again."

Draco shrugged. Probably not.

"And he got out of prison by paying off powerful people and pretending he wasn't as involved as I know he was." Draco stiffened slightly, but decided to let that one go. "So what's he going to do now? Go back to the ones who pretended to believe him and give them more money, so they'll believe he's switched sides for real?"

"He'll do what he can to make alliances with powerful people."

"And how do I figure into this?"

Draco shrugged. "I think they'll want to capitalize on you."

"Me? Your parents hate me."

"They know not everybody feels the way they do."

Potter mulled that over, and Draco could almost see him slowly putting pieces together. "So... they're going to remind everybody they're the in-laws of the bloody Chosen Boy Who Lived or whatever rubbish the Prophet's calling me now, and that'll get them 'alliances' with powerful people who like me?"

"Something like that."

"And they think I'll go along with that and pretend we're all one big happy family?" Draco nodded, and Potter scowled. "Over my dead body."

"Thanks ever so," Draco said dryly, not in the least bit surprised.

"I'm married to  _you_ , not your bloody family."

"I'm part of my bloody family. And, much as it pains all of us, so are you."

"I'm part of you and me, and as far as I'm concerned that's it."

"Somehow I'm sensing another fight coming on," Draco said evenly.

"Why? Do you want me to help rehabilitate your family?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I despise everything your father symbolizes and the idea of helping him makes my skin crawl."

"Why exactly do you hate him so much?"

"Apart from the fact that every couple of years he tries to kill me one way or another?"

Draco nodded, pointedly ignoring Potter's sarcastic tone.

"I hate what he stands for."

"I stand for the same things. Do you hate me?"

Potter turned to focus on the Gryffindor team, starting their drills. "You know I don't," he muttered stiffly.

"Why not?"

"You're not your father, Malfoy."

"I believe just about everything he believes in. You know that."

"I just - I find that difficult to believe. I mean, how can you?"

"Because he's right."

"All right, explain it to me, then. Other than mayhem and Muggle torture, what does he - what do  _you_  see in V- in him?"

"He's a powerful leader, Potter. And he makes a lot of sense, about a lot of things."

"It makes sense to kill people for no particular reason, does it?"

"It's a war. People die in wars."

"A war about what? Voldemort's pride?"

"It's not about his pride, it's about the survival of the wizarding world."

"Oh don't give me-" Potter again stopped himself with visible effort, and cleared his throat. "All right. Fine. Can you explain what the fu- er, what you mean by that?"

"It's about who we want to be. We're wizards, and that's supposed to mean something. It's not just doing little magic tricks to amuse Muggles or to knit awful jumpers. Magic is supposed to be powerful, and the people who use it are supposed to be strong. That means we can't let ourselves get polluted by outsiders, by people who'll dilute our blood and our gifts and destroy our traditions and our way of life."

"People like Hermione? When has she ever destroyed any traditions?"

"It's not about individuals, Potter!" he said, frustrated. "Granger may be one hell of a talented witch - and you don't have to look at me like I've grown a new head just because I can admit that out loud - but her kind doesn't belong in our world. They don't understand our customs, or what it means to be a witch or a wizard. Granger could study until all her rather large teeth fell out and she still wouldn't understand some things the youngest wizard children know instinctively. And people like the Weasleys, who embrace her and try to understand Muggles-" He stopped and shook his head. "They think they're building a bridge to the Muggle world, but how can they?"

"What do you mean?"

"What kind of future do they see? A world where Muggles and wizards hold hands and sing around bonfires on Halloween? That's insane, and it's dangerous, too. If our world were exposed right now, they'd want to kill us. They've tried to before. We need to keep ourselves pure and strong in order to protect ourselves. We need our magic to be strong enough so that we  _can_  protect ourselves." He paused. "It's nothing personal against Granger. It's her people. They're irrational and violent, and they can't be trusted."

"You've just described Voldemort, you know that, right?"

"I really wish you wouldn't say his name."

"I'll say his name if I bloody well want to."

"Fine. Sorry I brought this up." He turned away from Potter and they stood in uncomfortable silence, watching Weasley trying to settle a rather vocal argument between the Beaters and two of the Chasers.

Draco sighed. So this was what came of trying to be honest and open. Gryffindors really were idiots, if they thought this kind of thing beat silence and secrecy.

But then Potter lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and Draco sensed a weary kind of regret from him. "Maybe small steps is as far as we can go with this," Potter said hesitantly, putting a hand on Draco's arm. He nodded stiffly and Potter shifted closer. "Look, I'm sorry. You're - I push you to talk about this, and then when you do I snap at you. I'm sorry."

"Fine," Draco said grudgingly. Potter leaned a little closer, and after a moment's hesitation, Draco relaxed a bit. Potter moved to stand behind him, encircling him with his arms, his chin on Draco's shoulder. Draco leaned back slightly, his back resting against Potter's chest, both of them gazing out at the pitch.

"Can I make it up to you?" Potter said softly, and his breath on the side of Draco's neck, combined with the warmth of their embrace, unexpectedly stirred something in Draco. He drew in his breath. No, don't get excited. They might feel fine, but they were still in the hospital and Potter probably didn't mean that the way it sounded.

"You can do part of my Arithmancy assignment," he said, going for a casual tone, but Potter had apparently had caught his sudden interest.

"I'm rubbish at Arithmancy, you know that. I do have other talents, though," he said innocently, smiling into Draco's neck as Draco's pulse sped up.

Draco swallowed hard, but pulled away slightly. "My mother's probably coming back any minute," he pointed out.

"Ah. That's a bit of a mood killer."

"Just a bit. Not to mention we're still in the hospital."

"Yeah, there's that too." Potter sighed as they watched the Beaters start a new drill. "Speaking of which, why are we here? Yesterday it sounded like Esposito thought we were just fine, and then all of a sudden she started running all these tests on us and shooing people out and not letting us go home."

"I don't know. D'you think it's..." he trailed off, not wanting to voice his suspicion that maybe things weren't quite as rosy as they'd been led to believe.

"No, it's nothing to worry about," Esposito said and they both jumped, startled. "Sorry - I've never learned to make a decent amount of noise when I walk up behind people." She smiled apologetically. "You can go home, if you'd like. I wasn't really keeping you here for medical reasons. I just wanted you to... get a chance to sort yourselves out. Again. Before throwing you back among your peers."

"What?" Potter said.

"And a chance for you to think about what you'll be going back to. Especially you, Mr. Malfoy," she said pointedly.

"Why especially him?" Potter asked as Draco's eyes narrowed.

Esposito ignored Potter. "You're a Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Use your Slytherin brains to do more than just wonder about what your parents are going to do now," she said. "You're free to go, gentlemen. I would suggest your quarters first, instead of your dormitories." She gave them a small smile. "And don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. I'll find some excuse to keep your mother here for a decent amount of time."

**ooooooo**

"Nervous?" Draco smirked at Potter's half-stifled yelp as they entered their quarters and Draco closed the door by pushing Potter up against it.

"Just startled," Potter chuckled, relaxing. "That was a little unexpect-oh-" he drew in his breath as Draco started to press small kisses into the side of his neck.

"Why?" Draco asked, his words muffled. "Were you under the impression that we were coming here to study?"

"No, I just thought you'd - um, don't stop that - let the door close before you jumped me."

"You thought wrong," Draco said, and they stopped talking in favour of more pleasant activities, quickly shedding clothing as they manoeuvred themselves into their bedroom and fell into bed.

_Oh Merlin oh yes_  Draco thought as he pressed Potter back into the pillows, both of them panting and hard already, and it was so  _good_  to be able to do this without fighting exhaustion. To hold each other firmly again, Potter's fingers gripping Draco's hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting against each other, kissing fiercely in between moans and incoherent pleading...

"Wait-" Potter broke off. "D'you want to-" He waved at their night table and the small bottle of oil.

"Ohgodyes," he gasped, "but fucking hurry up-" And they laughed together breathlessly, their need so overpowering that Draco felt dizzy, and Potter sat up and pulled Draco onto his lap with almost bruising strength, Draco's thighs gripping his hips as they moved together urgently.

"Oh fuck, oh god, I don't - ah, Merlin, you're-" he groaned as the pressure grew more intense and Potter bit the side of his neck.

"Y-yeah - oh-" Potter moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, his climax triggering Draco's in a rush of heat.

They held on to each other tightly, panting together for a few moments before Draco realized what felt so odd about this: he felt fine. A little tired from the exertion, but mostly energized and tingling with afterglow. No insidious slow pull down to sleep.

He raised his head and met Potter's wondering gaze, and they grinned at each other.

"We're fine. It really worked," Potter whispered, and Draco answered him with a kiss, threading his fingers through Potter's hair. Potter was still breathing heavily as he caressed Draco's lips with his and lay back, drawing one hand slowly up his back to his neck, and Draco could feel him still trembling as they explored one another, slow and sweet and completely different from the hungry urgency of a few minutes ago.

Yeah, this was much better than passing out. Draco could definitely get used to this. "Mm," he murmured lazily after a few minutes. "Nice to be on top for once."

Potter smiled, then cleared his throat. "Do you... do you mind?" he asked hesitantly. "That... um, that you haven't topped?"

"Why would I?"

"Well... it's just... er..."

Draco smirked down at Potter. "Potter, did you listen, at all, to what Esposito said when she talked about topping and bottoming? The pros and cons of each?"

"Well, yeah, but - you mean, you're okay with it?"

The smirk grew into a snicker. "Why? D'you think I'm selflessly sacrificing myself for your sexual pleasure?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Lying back and thinking of England and-"

"Malfoy-"

"- _pining_  for the day when you allow me to have fun too-" he was dissolving into laughter as Potter's expression turned sheepish.

"Stop that."

"Sorry," Draco laughed, not sorry at all. "You know I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you."

"Only I'm not laughing," Potter pointed out dryly.

"All right, then, you're right," Draco said cheerfully, "I'm laughing at you. It's just that you're - Merlin, we've shagged how many times now and you're actually blushing. It's endearing, I suppose, if you've got a kink for hopelessly pathetic-" He ducked as Potter aimed a slap in his direction.

"Malfoy, I'm trying to be serious here."

"Oh I know, I know - that's what makes it so funny - oh, all right." He got a hold of himself and pasted what he hoped was a more serious expression on his face. "No, I'm not feeling taken advantage of, or hard done by. Well... maybe hard done by, but in a very good way - and the harder the better." Potter rolled his eyes in annoyance. "And yes, I'll be delighted to top, if you ever decide to be sexually adventurous and spread your, erm, wings, as it were-" he stopped again as Potter hit him with a pillow.

"Prat."

"Prude."

"I'm not a-"

Sir Xander cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy's parents are at the door," he said apologetically. "They would like you to join them in Professor Snape's private quarters when you can. They suggested that Mr. Potter bring something to occupy himself with."

"So much for keeping your mother in the hospital a decent amount of time," Potter sighed. "What d'you suppose they want?"

"Hopefully to let me know what's going on with our family. Maybe give me advice about what I'm supposed to do now."

"That sounds like fun."

"Believe me, it won't be." Draco sighed and allowed himself a final kiss before reluctantly sitting up. "Come on," he said. "Go and get your Arithmancy assignment. Let's get this over with as soon as possible."

**ooooooo**

**Day 42, Monday**

It had been... interesting advice, to say the least, thought Harry two days later as they waited for their dinner at the Three Broomsticks. Not that Harry had been privy to the conversation, but Malfoy had filled him in as soon as his parents had left. Though Malfoy didn't pretend that there weren't some things that had to remain private, and Harry appreciated that.

Face them head-on and don't dare to withdraw even for a moment, Lucius had said first of all. Go back to Slytherin right away, or your absence will be seen as cowardice.

Don't try to insist on the kind of deference you had before, unless you're damn sure you're going to get it, because trying for it and not getting it will make you lose face. But don't ignore their little rebellions, either; if they defy you, let them, but let them know that you've noted their defiance and will remember it in the future.

Be scrupulously polite to everybody (and here Harry had had to laugh because Malfoy Senior had clarified that everybody included Weasleys and Muggle-borns). No need to be overly friendly; Malfoys were masters at the art of frozen courtesy. Just don't deliberately piss anybody off.

And above all, don't answer any questions. "No comment" was to be Malfoy's catchphrase from now on, if anybody asked what Lucius was doing and who he was allied to.

It had all seemed to Harry a bit much to adjust to, so abruptly, but Malfoy had mentioned that he was an old hand at this; the ten months of Lucius' incarceration had apparently taught him a lot about being on the receiving end of Slytherin nastiness and not taking his supremacy over the rest of them for granted ever again.

And that had been a good thing, because there had been unmistakable signs of Slytherin rebellion from the moment they'd come back. Nothing too overt yet, though Nott had made a few barbed comments about his father. Mostly impolite stares, snide half-whispered comments, and casual meanness like Queenie Greengrass' "I believe it's Draco's turn to strain the bat dung, Professor," in Potions this morning.

It was a good thing they were out of that environment, for now, anyway. Esposito had suggested to Dumbledore that they should be allowed to leave school grounds together once in a while, and they had decided to take advantage of the opportunity as often as possible. And it was such a relief, being out here, though Malfoy was a little more on edge than he normally was when they were alone. Harry suspected he needed a bit of time to drop the on-guard stance he'd had to maintain ever since they'd come out of the hospital wing.

"This is a nice place," Harry commented as their dinners arrived.

"This is not a nice place. It's serviceable," Malfoy said brusquely.

"Don't be a prat. It's nice enough," Harry said, cutting into his pasta.

"You are thoroughly lacking in class."

"Thanks very much," Harry said mildly. "Any idea how your parents are going to deal with my classlessness among the kind of people they want to impress?"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "Probably remind everybody that it's not your fault you were raised by savages. And remind them who your father was."

"My father? Why?"

"The Potters were purebloods. Fairly well-bred and well-off." Malfoy shrugged. "That's enough for many wizards these days. Few people other than my parents would even care much about the fact that you're a-" Malfoy hesitated.

"A what? A half-blood?" Harry chuckled at Malfoy's uncomfortable expression. "I'm not embarrassed to be that, Malfoy," he said. "And I'm not ashamed of my Muggle-born mother, either. Or her Muggle parents."

"Oh really? And what about her Muggle sister, then? After all she and her husband did to you?"

Harry scowled at Malfoy. They hadn't yet discussed what each of them had learned about the other's family during the healing spell, and this didn't seem like the best place to start. Not with Malfoy already out-of-sorts. "Malfoy..." he said warningly.

Malfoy ignored his tone. "The Muggles who raised you abused you. I saw your memories, Potter. They stuck you in a bloody closet and treated you worse than any house elf."

"They-"

"They were less than human to you, because they were afraid of your magic. And you still think we have nothing to fear from their kind?"

Apparently Malfoy was itching for a fight. "'Their kind?'" Harry echoed. "Do you remember any of Hermione's memories? Because from what I saw of her parents, they're decent people. They care about her."

"Oh, yes, they care about her so much they dumped her off on our doorstep."

"Is that what you think Muggle-borns' parents do? Dump their children into the wizarding world?"

"What would you call it?"

"Their children don't fit into the Muggle world. Their parents care enough about them to let them come to Hogwarts, even though that means they'll end up losing them to the magical world. A lot of people wouldn't be able to do that." He stabbed at his meal, a little angrily. "Your mother didn't even want you to go to Durmstrang; Hermione's parents let her go farther away than they could ever reach."

Malfoy shrugged, unimpressed, and Harry blew out his breath in frustration.

"I'll say another thing for Hermione's parents, they never Crucioed her pets, either," Harry muttered irately, and winced as soon as the words were out. "Oh - god, sorry, that's-" He clapped his hand over his mouth.

Bugger. That had to be one of the most tactless things he'd ever said to anybody. It almost beat the time he'd asked Cho Chang how her summer was, the summer after Cedric Diggory had been killed. Why did his most asinine comments have to be directed at people he fancied?

He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on the table. "I'm... really sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He could feel Malfoy's eyes boring a hole through his head, and squirmed at the silence that dropped between them.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "My father wanted me to learn a lesson from that," he said, his voice tense. "And I did."

Harry looked up in disbelief. How could Malfoy possibly defend what had been done to him? "What did you learn?"

"I learned to open doors using only magic," he said grimly. "And I learned that sometimes you have to make sacrifices for something important."

"Your pet's well-being, in exchange for opening doors?"

"There are more important things in this world than stupid pets," he said flatly.

"How old were you?"

"I don't know, it wasn't that unusual a punishment. Probably five or six."

"Malfoy... that's... that was too young. Surely he could have taught you all of that without hurting you so badly."

"Maybe, but the point is, his method worked. And that's the only thing that matters."

"The ends justify the means? That's a horrible way to look at life."

"It's not horrible, it's realistic."

"It's cynical and unethical."

"You'd never have made it as a Slytherin, Potter."

"That's not what the Sorting Hat said," Harry muttered, picking up his fork again, grateful that they were apparently leaving behind the topic of Malfoy's childhood.

"The Sorting Hat? Wanted to sort you into Slytherin? You're joking."

"I'm not joking," Harry insisted. "It told me I could go far in Slytherin."

"So why didn't it put you there?"

Harry suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. "I... I asked it not to."

"Why?"

"Erm... I just thought that... I'd heard..." Harry fidgeted briefly, then steadied himself. "You'd just been sorted into Slytherin," he said bluntly.

"And?"

"And I didn't want to be where you were."

"You asked the Hat to put you somewhere else because of me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I took a bit of a dislike to you, remember?"

"Vividly. I didn't know I'd made that much of an impression."

"You were the first wizard child I'd ever met, and you insulted the first adult who'd ever been kind to me." Malfoy stared at him, totally lost. "Hagrid. He was the first person from the wizarding world that I ever met. The first person who was decent to me. He brought me to the wizarding world - and then I met you and you insulted him."

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "Funny. I don't remember that at all."

"You probably knew more wizard children than I did."

"And more adults who were kind to me," Malfoy said quietly, and Harry reflected that it was odd how this revelation about how much Harry had hated him from the beginning didn't seem to upset Malfoy at all. If anything, he seemed far more thoughtful and calm than when they'd first sat down to eat.

"I wish... I wish some of those memories hadn't come out in the circle." Harry paused. "I wish everybody hadn't seen some of that..."

"You and me both," Malfoy said with feeling.

Harry winced as he remembered one extremely private memory that they'd unwittingly shared with everybody. "I don't just mean the other people in the circle, though. I... I mean you too. I didn't..." He cleared his throat. "I didn't want you to see what my childhood was like."

There was a long silence. "Neither did I," Malfoy finally said.

"No, I suppose not." He cleared his throat again. "Let's not mention it again, right?"

Malfoy sighed. "I'm a little tired of avoiding sensitive topics with you," he said. "But if you want to not-"

"No, I - I mostly said that for your benefit."

"Then don't bother. We saw what we saw. I don't want to pretend we didn't."

"Oh." Harry went back to his meal. "You know, about the circle... I am sorry your family's in trouble because of it."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in cynical disbelief.

"I won't pretend I'm sorry that your family might have to switch sides, because I'm bloody tired of literally sleeping with the enemy. But I am sorry the other Slytherins are being gits to you."

Malfoy shrugged.

"You will get through it. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I just didn't enjoy this much the last time, and I'm not enjoying it much right now."

"No. Here, let's talk about something else."

"Such as?"

"Well... let's assume we can play Quidditch in the next few months. How are you going to get Carmichael to toss out Baddock and take you back?"

"I'm not sure yet," Malfoy said, toying with his food absently.

"You know... Carmichael's girlfriend's Muggle-born."

Malfoy wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I know. I'm surprised at his parents for not taking him to task over that."

"It's supposed to be a secret."

"Worst-kept secret in the school."

"It might give you something to bargain with, though."

"Blackmail? That can be a little risky-"

"No, not blackmail," Harry chuckled. "It's just that he'll have to choose between you and Baddock. Maybe you can remind him that Baddock and his family are on the side that would disown him as soon as look at him, for sleeping with a Muggle-born girl - and you and your family aren't, not right now. That plus the fact that you can fly circles around Baddock... it might help, you never know."

Malfoy stared at Harry blankly for a moment, then his mouth quirked into a half-smile. "Maybe the Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about after all," he chuckled.

**ooooooo**

"You're leaving?" Hermione asked Healer Esposito with surprise as she walked into the hospital wing.

Esposito looked up from the scrolls she was carefully packing into a black bag and smiled. "I'm done here, so yes," she said. "I'm glad you stopped by; gives me a chance to say goodbye without having to look all over the school for you."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Your help really was invaluable, you know. I very much appreciated it."

"I didn't find the imbalance," Hermione reminded her. "I thought it was succubus magic."

"So did I, at first."

"But you discounted it fairly quickly."

"Because of the research you did, and how you presented it. You were very thorough and you didn't hide any of the evidence that went against your pet theory. That's a rare trait, you know. And invaluable for a researcher or a Healer."

Hermione nodded, accepting the compliment. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you keep Harry and Malfoy here for two days? One minute you were ready to let them go - and then you weren't."

Esposito pursed her lips and regarded Hermione thoughtfully. "You must have sensed things were different between them after they woke up," she finally said.

"Yes."

"Things were different around them as well. They needed time to adjust to both changes. Particularly Mr. Malfoy. It would've been damned irresponsible for me to throw him back out there without giving him a chance to remember he's a Slytherin."

Hermione nodded. "And why are you encouraging them to spend time alone together now? I heard you suggested they be allowed to go to Hogsmeade again, alone. You said it might be a good idea for them to do every few weeks or so."

"Well, believe it or not, Miss Granger, I believe they have the makings of a good marriage," she said, and chuckled at Hermione's sceptical expression.

"All they want is to be able to not kill each other until the bond allows them to be apart."

"Yes, that's what they think. But it doesn't have to be that way. They have a lot in common, you know; they could do each other a lot of good." She paused. "They could do a lot of people a lot of good," she added, almost to herself.

"What do you mean?"

"Probably nothing." Esposito shrugged and turned away, flicking her wand at her bag so that it sorted itself out and snapped shut. "Call it hopeless romanticism and leave it at that." She flicked her wand again and the bag floated up. She turned and smiled at Hermione. "It was a true pleasure to get to know you, Miss Granger. I have a feeling I'll see you again."

"Goodbye, Healer," Hermione said, and Esposito nodded at her and started out the door.

"Healer?" she called out impulsively as Esposito was just about to leave.

"Yes?"

"Were you ever a Seeker? When you went to Hogwarts?"

Esposito's eyes twinkled. "Yes, I was. I won Slytherin the Quidditch cup in my fifth year. One of the happiest memories of my life." Hermione stared at her, bemused. "Sometimes we can be human too, Miss Granger. Try to remember that. And take care of them - both of them. I've a feeling they're going to need all the friends they can get."

**ooooooo**

**Day 56, Monday**

"Malfoy, come on, it's time to get up," Harry said impatiently, opening their curtains.

"Go. Away."

"Not a chance. Get up."

Malfoy burrowed under his pillow.

"Malfoy. Monday. Potions. Snape."

Malfoy groaned. "All right, all right," he sighed and sat up.

"Shower room's empty," Zabini informed them, drying his hair as he came back into the dorm room. "Best get there before Nott does."

Harry winced and they hurried to the showers. Nott had hexed the showerheads to pour bubotuber pus on Friday, and they'd only escaped injury by sheer luck, because Harry's towel had happened to fall to the floor and he'd stepped away from his shower to pick it up just before the caustic pus came raining down.

Of course, they couldn't prove it was Nott. He'd just been the last person seen leaving the shower room, and thus the most likely candidate. They weren't lacking in those, though.

"All clear?" Harry asked, after carefully searching for physical and magical tricks and traps. Malfoy nodded guardedly.

What a nice way to start the day, Harry thought as he stepped under the water. On the alert for not-so-practical practical jokes, from the moment they woke up.

He leaned against the shower wall, enjoying the soothing water, trying hard not to think of how much work he had to do today. Two weeks post-hospital, they were still about a week behind in class, though they probably would've been fully caught up if they didn't have to waste so much time dealing with the various hexes the other Slytherins had seen fit to plague them with.

It was too bad the NEWTS didn't include this kind of thing; bubotuber pus detection probably wasn't on the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam.

The door opened and Harry heard a disgusted snort. "I really wish you wouldn't shower in here at the same time," said Simon Edgars, a sixth-year Slytherin and good friend of Theo Nott. "I don't particularly want an eyeful of the special kind of love you two share."

"Best close your eyes, then," Malfoy said pleasantly, not bothering to open his, "because I was about to give Potter the blow job of a lifetime. Or you could join in. You know I've been dying for your spotty arse for years, Simon." He ducked under the water briefly, rinsing soap from his face. "Besides, it's always you I'm thinking of, every single time Potter does that thing with his-" The door slammed shut behind Edgars, and Malfoy snickered.

One down, about sixty to go before first period, thought Harry even as he chuckled over Edgar's horrified expression. It was no wonder Malfoy was so tense these days, and barely opened his mouth except to trade barbs with his house mates.

He wondered once again just how similar this situation was to the ten months after Lucius had been arrested, because for the life of him he couldn't recall Malfoy being anything other than his usual arrogant obnoxious self that year. But Malfoy claimed that what he'd been put through that year had been almost as bad as this.

Apparently those ten months had also been the origin of Malfoy's still existing enmity with Nott. At the time, Parkinson had stood firmly by him, as had Crabbe and Goyle, whose fathers were in prison too. Zabini and Queenie Greengrass had been neutral, and Millicent Bulstrode had had a few moments of outright defiance. But Nott's father, abandoned by Lucius near the beginning of the attack at the Department of Mysteries, had directed his son to throw Lucius' betrayal in Malfoy's face at every opportunity while the Malfoys were vulnerable. Malfoy's father, and Crabbe's and Goyle's, had all been released. Nott Sr. was still in prison and apparently still bitter, if his son's attitude towards Malfoy was any indication.

Harry finished his shower and dried himself off, then waited impatiently for Malfoy.

"Malfoy, come on."

Malfoy shook his head, water pouring down his hair. "Just a minute..."

"Right, then. I'm leaving, and I'm taking our bond with me..." Harry said, backing up and watching Malfoy scowl as they both felt the discomfort of Harry's growing distance.

Malfoy turned off the water. "Sodding impatient git," he muttered, drying himself off, and they headed for the doors, almost bumping into Crabbe coming in as they went out.

"'Scuse - oh." Crabbe stepped back, looking around furtively to see if anybody had seen him address Malfoy politely.

That had to the worst difference between sixth year and right now: ever since the Prophet had run that "DEATH EATER MALFOY REFORMED?" article last Monday, both Crabbe and Goyle had been extremely ill at ease around him; Malfoy figured they and their fathers had been ordered to shun the Malfoys. And that cut deep. Much deeper than Greengrass' move from the neutral to the hostile camp, probably a side-effect of her current relationship with Nott.

And there had been many other signs of general Slytherin disrespect in the last two weeks, which Malfoy often met by quietly backing off with a slight smile and narrowed eyes that showed clearly that he'd noticed and would remember the slight later. Harry never would've believed Malfoy capable of that kind of restraint if he hadn't seen it.

Malfoy ignored Crabbe and headed for the dorm, and they quickly started getting dressed. "Where's my tie?" he asked absently, and Harry blew his breath out with impatience as Goyle opened his mouth, then shut it nervously, staring at Malfoy's tie on the floor. It was clear that both he and Crabbe still wanted to be with Malfoy - why, Harry had no idea, as Malfoy had never seemed to treat them particularly well - but they didn't know how  _not_  to follow him, and got discombobulated by the simplest things.

"Here," Harry said, picking up the tie. They left the dorm room, Malfoy distractedly looking over the contents of his schoolbag as they entered the common room, crowded with students on their way to breakfast.

"Wait a minute." Malfoy stopped. "Do you have my Transfiguration essay?"

Harry shook his head as he tied his hair back. "No, I've only got my own."

"Damn." Malfoy rifled through his bag, taking out scrolls and putting them on a side table as he searched.

"Potter, did you ever finish the third part of that Arithmancy assignment?" Parkinson asked.

"Er - no, I didn't really understand it."

"Thick as mud, I swear," Parkinson smirked at Bulstrode. "Listen, I'll go over it with you tonight. It's not that hard if you understand the concepts behind it."

"Oh - thanks," Harry said, still not quite used to being spoken to in Slytherin house, even after two weeks. Another effect of the ongoing social upheaval in Slytherin house: while he wasn't exactly embraced by the Slytherins on Malfoy's side, he was certainly included a lot more than before, in an overt display of loyalty to Malfoy.

"There!" said Malfoy with relief. "Ten inches on the perils of gaseous transfigurations. I wasn't looking forward to doing it again." He started re-packing his scrolls. Suddenly he was pushed forward as another student almost fell on him.

"Hey! Watch where-" he began as potions ingredients fell out of the other boy's schoolbag.

"Malfoy!" Harry snatched Malfoy's hand out of the way just as a bottle of etchwater came uncorked and spilled its contents onto the scrolls.

There was a loud hissing sound and several wands came out amid yells of "Evanesco!" and the etchwater disappeared. Malfoy and Harry stared at the steaming spot on the carpet where the side table, and all of Malfoy's scrolls, had just been.

There was a small hush.

"Oh dear. Excuse me, Draco, I didn't see you there," the other boy said innocently, picking up his potions ingredients.

"Fuck you, Archer," Malfoy said, his voice tense and his eyes firmly on the floor.

"Temper, temper, Draco," Archer said, exchanging a grin with Nott, and started out the door. "After all, accidents do hap-" And he tripped and fell flat on his face, crushing his schoolbag - with its potions ingredients - under his body. Harry glanced at Parkinson, very busily fiddling with her tie, the tip of her wand barely visible inside one sleeve. Caught a slight smirk on her face, and grinned at her.

"You all right, there, Archer?" she said loudly over Archer's frantic efforts to get shards of glass and potions ingredients off his clothes. "Bit clumsy today, aren't you? You should really watch yourself." And she stepped neatly over him and headed out the door.

**ooooooo**

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione said, and he sat down next to her. He grunted in response. "Not so good?"

"Not so good," Harry agreed tightly. "Look," he said to Malfoy in an undertone, "tell Snape what happened, I'm sure he'll-"

"No," Malfoy said brusquely. "Leave off, Potter."

"Bring your assignments to the front of the class," Snape said, entering the room.

"Did Malfoy read the paper this morning?" Ron asked as they headed towards the front of the room to drop off their papers.

"No, why?"

"His father's in it again."

"Oh, marvellous," Harry sighed. Malfoy's father had told him to follow the papers carefully, but Malfoy had quickly grown disgusted at what passed for news about him and his family, and had stopped after only three days.

"Malfoy, Ron says your father's in the paper again," Harry murmured as he and Ron came back.

"Bugger," Malfoy said irately.

"Oh is he a bugger too, Draco? Runs in the family, does it?" Greengrass giggled.

Malfoy ignored her. "What was the article about?" he asked Ron.

"The usual rumours. One source says your father's renovating part of Malfoy Manor for you two after you finish school and you're... erm, well, in love or something, and another says he's planning on bumping off Harry as soon as possible and you still call each other by your last names and hate each other even more than before."

Malfoy groaned. "That'll make Father's day, I'm sure."

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape called out from the front of the class. "Where is your assignment?

"I don't have it, sir," Malfoy said shortly.

"This is the second time in two weeks that you have missed handing in an assignment, Mr. Malfoy. Would you care to explain why?"

"No sir."

"Very well then, five points from Slytherin, and I will see you in detention tonight."

Malfoy nodded tightly, ignoring the titters from part of the Slytherin contingent. "Yes sir."

Harry glared at Snape even as he told himself that Snape didn't really have much choice in this; it wasn't like he could just ignore the fact that Malfoy wasn't handing things in. And he being as lenient as possible; two missed assignments would certainly have earned Harry at least twenty points off and three detentions, not to mention a heavy dose of Snape's special brand of publicly humiliating sarcasm.

That didn't help Malfoy right now, though. "Malfoy," he said softly. "Don't let it bother you-"

"Don't tell me not to let it bother me," Malfoy muttered angrily, shrugging off his hand and starting to take notes.

"Look, as long as your NEWTS are good-"

"Sod the NEWTS. This isn't about marks."

"But-"

"Mr. Potter, is there something you would like to share with the class, or should I just take ten points from Gryffindor?"

"No sir," Harry said. "I mean, yes sir. Sorry." He turned to his notes and elbowed Malfoy lightly. "See?" he murmured. "He still hates me more than you. Isn't that worth a smile?"

And Malfoy gave a small chuckle before bending his head back to his work.


	13. November 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chibitoaster added another illustration, for the fight scene at the end of chapter 4:
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/fight-ink.jpg

**Day 61, Saturday**

Draco stretched tiredly and cracked a few bones in his back. He and Potter were in the library, about halfway through their scheduled three hours of studying and revising notes, which was to be capped off by dinner in Hogsmeade. Which he was starting to look forward to rather alarmingly.

He shouldn't need it so much, but he did. Needed time away from Slytherin and the tension and hostility there. Time away from Gryffindor and its irritating, cloying sweetness, especially in the way they were treating him lately. Ignorant gits thought they were doing him a favour, including him in their social circle. Feeling  _sorry_  for him for what Slytherin was doing. Welcoming him with open arms, with a large helping of smug See How Noble We Are and a nauseating dash of Aren't You Grateful To Us For Befriending You In Your Time Of Need.

It made him want to hex them all into oblivion.

At least he was no longer so self-conscious around the Gryffindors who'd taken part in the healing circle. McGonagall and Snape hadn't been a problem; teachers saving students' lives had become almost routine during his years at Hogwarts, and he didn't have to be around them in social settings anyway. Blaise and Pansy had merely pointed out that he would be forever in their debt, not just for the healing spell but for remaining loyal to him despite his family's fall from grace with the Dark Lord. But for weeks he'd felt utterly exposed, and uneasy with his burden of gratitude, around Weasley, Granger and Longbottom. Spending any time in their presence had been rather uncomfortable.

He'd finally gotten used to it, but Gryffindor was still irritating. The only bright spot at Gryffindor Tower right now was actually Seamus Finnigan, with his amusing discomfort over the whole 'gay' thing. He still looked away squeamishly when he saw Draco and Potter in the same bed, was unable to stay in the same room when they touched, and had even mumbled something about "Can't you do that somewhere else" once when Potter had kissed Draco, which had prompted the other Gryffindor boys to treat him to a round of rather merciless - and very funny - teasing about his prudishness.

At least his mortified homophobia was honest. Stupid and Muggle-induced, but honest.

Well... not entirely Muggle-induced. Plenty of the Slytherin purebloods had shown they were quite willing to stoop to homophobia as well, if it helped denigrate Draco and Potter's characters.

"Malfoy, stop that," Potter said absently, placing a hand on Draco's neck without looking up from his Arithmancy notes.

"Stop what?"

"Grinding your teeth. Relax." Potter started to rub firmly at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "God, you're tense," he murmured, still not looking up from his notes.

Draco dipped his head a little lower, startled at just how good the simple neck-rubbing felt, as Potter's hand moved to the base of his neck. "What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"What?"

"With your hand. It doesn't feel like a normal spell..." he trailed off, tilting his head to give Potter more room to work.

Potter looked up, amused, his hand still working its magic. "It's not a spell, just a neck rub. Haven't you ever had one before?"

"Mm, don't think so. It's really not magic?" He closed his eyes.

"No, it's really not." Potter's voice held a chuckle.

"Mm. It's nice..." he trailed off, letting himself enjoy the feeling of contentment, of being cared for. Potter leaned in closer, moving to rub the space between his shoulder blades with both hands now, and he vaguely hoped nobody was watching and snickering but then decided they could bloody well snicker if they wanted to. This felt too good to stop. And who knew, maybe one of those 'anonymous sources' would go to the Prophet with evidence that he and Potter didn't hate each other. He sighed, pillowing his head on his arms, and only opened his eyes after Potter gave his back a final squeeze and cleared his throat.

"Hmm?"

"We're going now," Potter said.

"What? Thought you wanted to finish your Defence revision?"

"With you grinding your teeth and so tense your neck and back feel like solid rock? No thanks. We're going to go flying, then go to Hogsmeade early."

"But-" Draco's half-hearted objections died quickly as Potter determinedly put their books away and stood up.

All right. Why not? They hadn't flown much lately, what with their staggering study load and the various annoyances at Slytherin house, but it was a nice afternoon, they were almost caught up with their schoolwork, and he bloody well deserved a nice break.

This certainly qualified as a nice break, he decided as they started chasing the Snitch a few minutes later, all thoughts of their housemates and newspapers and Defence revision blown away in the rush of wind. Sex was nice, and if he were forced to choose one or the other he'd obviously pick sex over flying, but they couldn't do that all the time, and there was something supremely satisfying about Seeker's Games. Especially Seeker's Games that tended to end so very well for him.

"How in hell do you keep winning this?" Potter asked irately after Draco caught the Snitch yet again, winning their last game set. "You're never this good in matches."

"You're never as good on your own as you are with your six adoring flying fans," he smirked.

"What difference does that make?"

"I always follow you during games," Draco said. "I'm very good at thinking about the other Seeker. With you, it's always just you against the Snitch, and nothing else exists. You let your team-mates deal with the other Seeker."

"But that's what you're supposed to do during matches," Potter said as they started down.

"Matches, maybe. Not Seeker's Games."

Potter nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if your house mates are still betting on you."

Draco shrugged, not particularly wanting to think about that.

"Look, I am sorry they're-"

"No, don't tell me you're sorry again," Draco said irritably as they landed next to the Quidditch hut. "Believe it or not, it's not comforting."

"All right, I won't."

"Come on, Potter, let's go to Hogsmeade," he said, putting away the Snitch and loosening his flying gear.

"Harry," Potter said after a beat.

"What?"

"Not that I want to make things any easier for your parents, but they're right about one thing. It's probably stupid for us to still be on a last-name basis."

"I'm not going to use your first name in public just for the sake of publicity."

"We're not in public right now," Potter said, and Draco looked away, unlacing his gloves. "Look, if you don't want to for some reason of your own-"

"No, just-"

"Then stop referring to me like an acquaintance. At least when we're in private. You can call me Potty for all I care when you're with your friends."

Draco chuckled. "All right."

"Come on. Let's go to Hogsmeade so you can whine about the shoddy service and bad food and brag about how much better the food is at wherever it is you Malfoys normally dine."

Draco laughed. "And after dinner, let's go home," he said impulsively.

"Not Slytherin?" Potter said, a little surprised, taking off his shin pads. They hadn't slept in their own quarters in over a week. "What happened to the obedient Malfoy heir?"

"He's still here, just pissed off and needing a break from his pathetic housemates."

"Good night to skive off, actually; your house mates'll probably just assume we're going back to our place after Hogsmeade to shag like rabbits."

"Who says we're not?" he said, and Potter grinned at him. Draco leaned in for a kiss and Potter responded eagerly, pulling Draco closer. "Mm..." Draco whispered into Potter's ear, "maybe we can go to Hogsmeade later..."

"Erm... I'm hungry..." Potter said softly, pressing a line of kisses into Draco's neck.

"Me too," Draco snickered, running his hands down Potter's back.

"Hungry for  _food_ ," Potter chuckled.

"Come on - we can always just get dinner from the house elves..."

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes contentedly while Potter continued his ministrations, both of them still warm and smelling of wind and exercise and dragonhide flying gear, their mild arousal a pleasant backdrop to the comfort of holding and being held, fingers threading through his hair-

A soft throat-clearing from behind startled him, and Potter reluctantly looked up - then stiffened and sucked in his breath. Before Draco could turn to confront whoever was threatening them, he froze at the sound of a familiar voice.

"I do hope I'm not... interrupting anything?"

Draco felt his stomach drop.

"Father." He took a deep breath and forced himself to grab what he could of his composure, let go of Potter and turned around.

"Draco. Mr. Potter," Father said politely. There was a short silence, during which Draco tried to steady his breathing and quash his acute discomfort. There was absolutely  _no_  reason for it. This was just his father, and Draco hadn't been doing anything wrong; why was he feeling this bizarre...  _guilt_?

"I was told that you would be found in the library until later today. Severus mentioned something about a detention? A missing assignment?"

"I-I finished it," Draco said quickly, cursing the stammer in his voice, the flush heating his cheeks.

"I should hope so. It wouldn't do to get behind on your schoolwork," Father said. There was another short pause. "Mr. Potter, I would like to speak with my son alone for a few moments. The Great Hall is nearly empty right now; perhaps we can sit at one table and you can study at a different table. I believe Madam Pomfrey has said that your bond has settled to the point that you may be physically apart for a few minutes?"

Potter looked at Draco questioningly, and Draco nodded. "Of course," he said, and gestured for his father to precede them back towards the school. "Erm - when did you get here?" he asked Father as they started walking.

"Not long ago. I do hope it's not inconvenient to drop in on you like this; I had some business in Hogsmeade."

"No, no, not inconvenient," Draco said, falling into casual small talk with extreme difficulty, hating his father's ability to, as always, look and sound perfectly at ease.

They found a spot near the fireplace at the nearly empty Slytherin table, and Potter settled himself with his books at the Hufflepuff table, as far away as the bond comfortably allowed him to be. Draco frowned as Father took a seat facing the Hufflepuff table, forcing Draco to sit with his back to Potter.

Getting Draco to feel uncomfortable from the outset. Wonderful.

"How are you, Draco?" his father asked after asking a passing house-elf for tea for both of them.

"Fine, thank you, Father," he said politely, and they spoke of nothing important for a few minutes, waiting for their tea to arrive, with Draco growing steadily more uneasy.

"I've cast a sound scrambling spell around us, so we may speak freely, I believe," Father said finally. "I would of course have preferred to do this elsewhere, but as the Ministry is still somewhat hesitant about me being anywhere near Potter..." Father's slight smile showed how amusing he found it that the Ministry thought he'd be so foolish as to harm Potter.

"I assume you've been reading the papers," he began, and Draco nodded, guiltily aware that he hadn't. He'd meant to, but-

"Have you?" Father asked pointedly, and Draco cursed himself. Father always,  _always_  knew when he was lying. How the hell did he do that?

"Not... not always, Father. I, I tried, but with our classes-"

"Let me summarize for you, then," Father said in the impatient condescending tone that always cut right through Draco. "There is great uncertainty as to where my loyalties lie. There is also great uncertainty as to when and where the Dark Lord's supporters are going to strike next. There have been rumours of increased Death Eater activity lately; a few random disappearances, a few break-ins at prominent homes, theft of certain Dark Magic items."

Draco nodded. Blaise and Pansy had told him as much - and it had been incredibly difficult to hear it as an outsider, and to know that asking his parents for more details would be useless because in all likelihood they knew no more than he did.

"I don't need to tell you that this is a delicate time." Draco shook his head. "You were aware that there were... certain plans in place, before this curse was cast on you." Draco nodded. "You were not told of the details then, nor do you need to know them now. All that you need to know is that certain events which were to take place this autumn were delayed, because of your bond, as a gesture of good will from the Dark Lord towards our family. He did not promise to delay his plans forever - nor did I expect him to - but he was gracious enough to allow us time to try to deal with your bond before making his move. I cannot stress enough just how much was done for our benefit, Draco." Father's eyes were serious. "Nor can I stress enough just how difficult it was for me to obtain such an indulgence from the Dark Lord."

Draco swallowed hard and nodded again.

"As you are no doubt aware, the healing circle upset the rather precarious balance among the supporters of the Dark Lord." Father took a sip of his tea. "I have tried to do what I can to remain on good terms with the Dark Lord, from a distance. I have not been before him; I don't flatter myself that I'm important enough for him to not punish me for my involvement in the circle, as a matter of discipline. Were I he, I would do the same."

"Yes sir."

"We are doing what we can to not burn our bridges in case it is at all possible to come back to the right side at some point in the future. But if we do, we will need something to return with - some token of our loyalty that will be adequate compensation for my actions. Information about the other side; weapons they may have, defences and how to breach them, identities of members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco nodded, forcing himself to ignore the faint nausea beginning to rise in his stomach. Whether it was from the slightly disorienting distance from Potter, or from what his father was saying, didn't matter. He forced himself to focus on Father's words.

"This is precisely what the other side suspects, and why they mistrust me, with good reason. I am, of course, donating to the appropriate causes and people. We are eager to show that your bond to their hero is successful and almost certainly permanent. Anything that can get us into positions of power in the social structure of the other side, whether we are able to go back to the Dark Lord or not." He paused and stirred his tea.

"We are also still searching for whoever cast the bond. Because even after the bond dies down and you are able to go your separate ways, you will still be very vulnerable if Potter is hurt in any way, for a long time. I don't know how long you'll have before Potter is hurt - as I said, plans were in place for events to come to a head this year, now."

"But the Aurors tried to find-"

"Aurors have certain limits placed on their methods."

Draco nodded. Of course: no unauthorized Legilimency or pensieving, no torture followed by Obliviating, nothing 'unethical.' "Have you made any progress?"

Father hesitated. "Not... as much as we would have liked, although we have been able to discount a few likely suspects. We are currently concentrating on people with connections to students at Hogwarts, mostly but not exclusively in Slytherin house. We've found nothing on your friends Pansy or Blaise - not that I was expecting anything, since they underwent Veritaserum questioning the night of the healing circle. However, outwitting Veritaserum is not impossible, especially if you are on your guard, as we all were that night. If we come up with nothing on anybody else I may ask you to question them yourself. They will not be on their guard with you."

Draco recoiled from the thought, but nodded obediently nonetheless.

"We are also considering the possibility that the caster may have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, disgruntled by Potter's star status. Perhaps hoping to kill off Potter and weaken our side at the same time."

Draco frowned sceptically. "That doesn't sound terribly likely."

"It isn't. But I want you to rest assured that I am leaving no stone unturned."

"Thank you, Father."

"Is that a genuine thank you, Draco?" Father asked casually, sipping his tea.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you still want this bond dissolved?"

Draco's stomach lurched again. His father's tone was so very calm and offhanded, as though he were discussing the prospects for the Quidditch Cup.

"Of course," he said, trying to sound puzzled by the question.

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Draco said, turning Father's question around on him. His father's eyes held a hint of approval for his evasiveness before going back to cool casualness.

"You certainly don't act as though this relationship is an onerous burden, Draco."

"We're no longer actively fighting the bond; that doesn't mean I don't want to get rid of it."

"Really."

"Yes."

"Do remember that I saw some of your memories, Draco," Father reminded him coolly, and Draco cringed inwardly.

"You saw that our physical relationship is intense," he forced his tone to remain matter-of-fact. "And you know that's entirely due to the bond spell. There's nothing more to it than that, Father." He was feeling more and more nauseated by the moment.

Father inclined his head, conceding the point. "In a way, I am pleased; there are people watching you both here, and their reports are good. You are getting along, which certainly helps to make our position more believable, a little more likely to get us information that may prove useful in the long run. I do expect you to gather what you can as well, of course."

"Of course."

"By the way, I have arranged for a reporter with discreet ties to us to speak with you on Monday."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Prophet would like to interview you."

"About..."

"About the bond, Draco," Father said, impatient as always with his slowness. "Potter, and how you get on with him. You needn't to overdo it and pretend you've fallen in love with him; merely explain that you have settled into the bond, that there were a few problems but you've overcome them, and that will be enough. She will know what she can and cannot ask or write about." He handed Draco a piece of parchment. "Make sure you read this over before meeting with her. And if they wish to take photographs, do at least try to look presentable." Father's glance took in his windblown hair and somewhat grubby clothing, damp and wrinkled from his recent Seeker's Game, and Draco blushed.

"Father, if... if we're making it look as though we're so committed to this bond, how will it look if you find the caster and remove it?"

His father shrugged, unconcerned. "No matter how well the bond turns out, I doubt very many people would expect the previously heterosexual seventeen-year-old son of a pure-blooded family to stay with anybody he and his family hadn't chosen. Never mind a half-blood boy, even if he is the great Harry Potter." Father sipped his tea. "And of course there is also that medical report."

"Medical report?"

"The... injuries you sustained at his hands. During your suspension."

" _What?_ "

"Draco," Father murmured as a few people turned around to look at them. "Kindly remember where you are."

Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Father... that, that wasn't-"

"I am well aware of what it was and what it wasn't, Draco. But it is a recorded fact that at one point the school nurse was worried about your physical safety. It is also a fact that Potter is somewhat unstable. Even without that medical report, there were literally hundreds of witnesses to the incident in the Great Hall. We will of course be using both incidents, and any others that crop up, in the event that we are able to dissolve the bond." He took another sip of his tea. "I am rather curious, though, as to why you did not see fit to mention it to your mother or me."

Draco was pinned by that cool gaze as his thoughts raced. Father had obtained his medical records - how could he have assumed Father  _wouldn't_? And how could he have thought, even for a moment, of doing as Potter asked and confiding in Pomfrey after that incident? Of letting her know that the only reason Potter had become 'violent' was that Draco had goaded him into it, because he'd needed to, because he'd been unable to accept his growing feelings for Potter and had to replace them with something familiar and safe, like their long-time hatred?

Father let the silence grow, letting him see that, as always, he had the upper hand and there was nothing Draco could do about it. Father knew how he was feeling, he had spies everywhere, he could get at Draco's medical records, he could do bloody well anything.

"It-it didn't seem that important," Draco finally said, going for a dismissive tone and inwardly wincing at how nervous he sounded. Lucius looked over his shoulder and ended the scrambling spell.

"Mal- er, Draco?" a soft voice behind him said, and the easing of his nausea and dizziness let him know who it was even before he felt Potter's hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry - can you stop for a bit?"

Draco turned around, registering the slightly pale cast to Potter's face and covering Potter's hand with his own.

"Sorry, I'll go back to my books in a minute," Potter said, his voice subdued, "I just-"

"No, that's quite all right," Father said politely. "I shouldn't have pushed your bond that far so soon. We were almost done anyway. Draco, was there anything else you wished to bring up?"

Other than my lunch? Draco swiftly suppressed the thought and schooled his features into respectful deference. "No, Father."

"Then I shall take my leave of you both. Please, do go on with your agenda for the day." Father stood.

"Goodbye, Father."

"Goodbye, Draco. Don't forget to read what I gave you." And Father was gone without a backwards glance.

"All right, what was that?" Potter asked, sitting down, his colour back to normal.

Draco shook his head. "Later. Let's change and go to Hogsmeade."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. You?"

"Fine."

"You didn't really need to come over, you know. I wasn't feeling that bad." He narrowed his eyes. "And neither were you."

"It wasn't just the bond that was making us both feel sick," Potter said evenly.

Draco looked away. "Come on. Let's go to Hogsmeade," he said hollowly, and they rose together and left the Great Hall.


	14. November 29 - January 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks also very much to Kyllikki, whose beta powers know no bounds, and Chibitoaster, who draws like a dream.

****  
**Day 62, Sunday** ****  


Harry blinked his eyes open sleepily. Something was wrong. Something...

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

Malfoy was on his side, his eyes closed, his breath ragged, a frown on his face and dread and resentment flooding through to Harry.

"Malfoy?" Harry touched his arm and Malfoy startled and drew away, biting his lip, still asleep.

"No..." he murmured. "Don't..."

"Malfoy," Harry said, shaking him gently. "Draco. Wake up."

Malfoy woke with a start, eyes wide and haunted. "What-"

"I think you were having a nightmare. Sh, it's all right." Harry tentatively reached out, not sure whether his touch would be welcome or not.

"I was what?"

"Having a nightmare. You're awake now, you're all right," Harry said quietly, rubbing Malfoy's arm, noting that he was shivering.

Malfoy nodded uncertainly, still disoriented, and Harry slowly pulled him into his arms, profoundly disturbed as Malfoy welcomed his comfort and grasped him tightly, with apparently no thought for how vulnerable this made him seem.

"D'you remember what it was about?" Harry asked cautiously.

"N-no... yeah. Parts of it. About my father, I think."

Harry suppressed a shudder. "What about him?"

"Nothing that bad, just what he was talking about yesterday, the-" Malfoy suddenly closed his mouth and a rush of alarm and reticence flooded from him to Harry.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Harry said quickly. "Only it's sometimes good to talk out a nightmare. But, er, sometimes it makes it worse."

Malfoy nodded, his breath still unsteady, but gradually evening out.

"It'll make it worse?"

"Yeah." Malfoy cleared his throat and nodded, and his tight grip lessened as his unease seemed to subside, and now Harry felt a small surge of embarrassment from him.

He sighed. "Come on, Draco, you were having a nightmare. I usually wake up screaming from mine." Malfoy snickered and Harry felt him relax a bit. "Can you tell me why he was here?"

Malfoy cleared his throat again. "He... a lot of reasons. Information about the family, what's going on. A lot of it's obviously private, or I would've told you."

"I gathered that."

"Oh and he wanted me to know he's still trying to find who cast the bond."

"Is he? What can he do that the Aurors can't?" There was a very short pause, as Harry replayed his own words and gave a short laugh. "Never mind, I didn't ask that question."

"And I didn't hear it," Malfoy said, smirking.

"Anything else?"

"I'm supposed to talk to a reporter. Monday after class."

"About what?"

"Us, the bond, big happy family, etcetera etcetera."

"Lucky you," Harry said dryly.

"Quite."

"Isn't he worried that the reporter might twist your words?"

"She's on our payroll, apparently."

"Now that really is lucky. Wish I'd had a reporter in my pocket any time in the last seven years. Rita Skeeter would've been nice, in fourth year."

"Skeeter? Yeah, I can imagine. Though wasn't she the same one who did a very sympathetic interview with you in fifth year?"

"The same."

"Did you pay her off?"

Harry hesitated briefly. "Blackmailed her."

"What?!" Malfoy propped himself up on one elbow, looking at him in amused disbelief.

"She was an unregistered animagus, but you knew that. We threatened to expose her and made her write an honest story, for once in her career."

"You're saying 'we' but for some reason I keep thinking 'we' means Granger." There was a slight pause, and Malfoy smirked. "Not that I expect you to name names, of course."

"Of course. Anyway, I just wish we could've had her the year before that. Those articles she wrote around the Goblet of Fire fiasco were so bloody embarrassing."

"You really didn't say any of that stuff she said you did? I know you said that at the time, that she made it all up, but-"

"Honestly, still crying over my parents? Why would I? I've no memories of them at all."

Malfoy was silent for a moment before lying back down again. "I... god, I'm sorry I was such a shit to you over those articles."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"

"Fuck you, Potter, you heard me, I'm not going to repeat it," he said stiffly, and Harry laughed softly.

"Right. Apology accepted. It's only you've never apologized for anything from before the bond."

"No and I don't intend to make a habit of it, either," Malfoy said firmly. "Or we'll both be spending the next few months doing nothing but apologizing for the past."

"This is a one-time offer, is it?"

"Absolutely. Blame it on my father's orders to me to get in touch with my sodding Inner Hufflepuff."

Harry laughed.

"You have no idea how much I hate this."

"I have some," Harry smirked. "It doesn't have to be that painful, you know. As long as you make sure your Inner Hufflepuff is Zacharias Smith, you should have no trouble."

"Smith?" Malfoy wrinkled his nose in distaste. "That-"

"Arrogant, sarcastic, hostile git?"

"Yes-" Malfoy suddenly got it and started laughing. "Fuck you very much, Potter."

"You're welcome," Harry said, thankful that Malfoy seemed to be over whatever his nightmare had been. "Can you go back to sleep again?"

"Yeah." Malfoy yawned and settled himself into Harry's shoulder. "Good night... Harry."

"Good night," Harry said, unaccountably pleased with the simple gesture.

**ooooooo**

**Day 63, Monday**

"Good god, Potter, that's appalling," Zabini laughed at Harry's potion which, truth to tell, was looking somewhat off. It was supposed to be brilliant blue with a hint of fire in the depths. Instead, it was puce, with bits of floating things which looked a lot like newt eyes because that was in fact what they were. Malfoy looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

"Did you do any of the sixth chapter readings at all? Here." He grabbed Harry's ladle and poured a ladleful into a small bowl. "Watch what I'm doing, then do it yourself. Even you should be able to understand this." And he proceeded to explain in detail what Harry had done wrong and how he could recover from it.

Hermione had come over to watch. "Is that why the newt eyes don't dissolve? I thought it was just the heat that mattered."

"No, it's the speed of stirring as well. Well, the heat helps too, but it's mainly the speed," he said, and they began a lively discussion of the different elements of the potion that left Harry completely bewildered in about a minute. He looked up at Parkinson's slightly bemused expression at the alarming sight of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy having a perfectly cordial exchange of ideas.

Apparently Parkinson was able to follow the topic as well, because she suddenly frowned. "That's - no, that's all wrong," she said, joining in. "Draco, Granger's right, actually, the counter-clockwise direction only affects the taste and colour, not the potency."

"She's right? Did Pansy Parkinson just say Granger is right?" Queenie Greengrass, at the next table over, whispered loudly to Nott. Parkinson flashed her a dark look.

"Queenie, darling, you'll want to not lean so close over your cauldron; that's why you keep getting all those dreadful spots," she said breezily before turning her back on Greengrass and plunging back into the discussion, but her manner towards Hermione was somewhat chillier nonetheless.

Hermione met Harry's eyes over the cauldron and sighed. Hermione had told him that Parkinson had approached her at the Halloween ball, trying to find out what was wrong with Malfoy and Harry, and that Hermione had brushed her off. She'd been trying, since the circle, to mend bridges, but apparently Parkinson's willingness to extend her friendship (or at least her non-hostility) to Harry didn't extend to Hermione. Her manner was more polite than it had been before, but no warmer.

It was all so much simpler when Gryffindor and Slytherin were enemies, thought Harry. Gryffindors had always been friendly with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws and Slytherins were often seen together, but the enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin that was such a solid foundation of their school seemed to be eroding. This new reality was extremely confusing, as parts of Slytherin cheerfully tore into each other like particularly malicious pixies and strange alliances sprang up between Gryffindors and Slytherins. People from both houses were sometimes cooperating in class and during extra practice sessions, like today's. There had even been a few Gryffindors and Slytherins visiting one another's common rooms. It was bizarre.

It was particularly odd for this to be happening against the backdrop of increased Death Eater activity, not knowing whether the people who were suddenly being friendly were the same ones whose parents were involved in the horrifying activities reported in the papers. There were now odd silences here and there whenever politics came up. The whole situation was terribly disconcerting.

"Are you listening?" Malfoy cut into Harry's musing.

"Oh - sorry," Harry said, startled.

"Merlin, Harry, this is your potion we're all working over. The rest of us may not agree over why it's gone wrong, but yours is the only one that looks this bad. The least you can do is pretend to pay attention to what we're saying."

Harry nodded apologetically.

"Oh it's  _Harry_  now, is it?" Greengrass said archly, and there was a small silence, broken by Parkinson.

"Good heavens, Queenie, your potion really is giving off the most foul - oh. Oh that's not the potion, is it? You poor dear, you really need to stay away from the bean and hemlock stew, it doesn't agree with you at all-"

"Draco," Zabini said, "don't you have that interview with the Prophet at five today? It's four thirty already."

"An interview?" said Nott. "My my, we do like ourselves, don't we?"

"Shut  _up_ , Nott," Parkinson said impatiently, glancing over Malfoy. "Good lord, Draco it's a good thing you taught me all those grooming spells-"

"I'm fine-"

"Not for pictures in the paper, you're not. Draco, you're one of the more presentable boys in our year and living with Potter hasn't harmed that - in fact I must say he's looking rather less scruffy than before - but you need to look immaculate for pictures. You don't want to look like the Weasleys did when they made the front page."

Ron scowled and Harry shot him an apologetic look.

"We don't know she'll want to take any pictures, it's not that big a story-"

"Not that big a story? The entire wizarding world has been starving for crumbs and nibbles of gossip about you two for months and you think your interview won't be front-page news? No, don't tie your hair back, then it looks short." Malfoy scowled at her. "One of these days I'm going to tie you down and make you look at all the articles I've saved-"

"Not unless you want me to Incendio them all."

"There. Now you look like a proper respectable married man. Go and gush about your wedded bliss." Malfoy shot her a dark look as he and Harry left the room.

"Oh and, Draco, if they want pictures of the two of you, make sure you use a lot of tongue-" Nott said, and Harry put his hand firmly on Malfoy's back.

"Move. Forward. Do not think of what he just said."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with the bloody reporter and-"

"No, I don't. I get to sit and watch and get my revenge for every comment you ever made about Rita Skeeter."

"Yes, and thank you for your loving support," Malfoy said sourly.

**ooooooo**

**Day 68, Saturday**

"Fuck," Draco said softly as he opened the Prophet to the second page.

"Not yet another letter about your interview, is it?" Potter asked, buttering his toast.

"No, I told you, those have tapered off," he said irritably. "It's just they've caught Rodolphus Lestrange..." He scanned the article.

"What? How?" Potter looked over his shoulder.

"Doesn't say, they just found him." He scanned to the end, going back to read more carefully. "Damn. My mother must be frantic," he muttered.

"Why?" Seamus Finnigan asked.

"If they've found Rodolphus, that means my aunt B-" he stopped and his face flushed as he swallowed the rest of what he was going to say, suddenly acutely aware of Neville Longbottom's presence, right beside him at the breakfast table.

"Aunt who?" Finnigan asked, his mouth full of porridge and his eyes on the Quidditch pages, his words dropping into the sudden complete silence at their end of the table.

"Erm, so Malfoy, you're both staying here for the hols, right?" Weasley broke in loudly, and Draco felt an annoying surge of gratitude towards him.

"Who's your aunt, Malfoy?" Finnigan asked curiously, still shovelling down porridge and utterly oblivious to the tension surrounding him.

"Lestrange's wife Bellatrix," Draco said quickly. "Yeah, we're staying over. You're going home, Weasley?"

"Yeah, not for the whole thing, though. I'll be-"

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" said Finnigan.

"-we'll be spending part of the hols with-" Granger said.

"Isn't she a Death Eater too?" Finnigan asked.

"Yeah, she is," Longbottom snapped. "And everybody's trying to change the subject, Seamus."

Finnigan looked up, shocked at Longbottom's tone. "Oh." He looked around and finally registered the substantial unease in the air. "Erm. Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head and going back to inhaling his porridge, his face a deep crimson.

Draco cleared his throat. Merlin and Mordred, this was so impossible. What was he supposed to do? Apologize to Longbottom for his aunt's actions? Be silent for the rest of the meal? Start a new topic of conversation?

"Thanks," he murmured to Longbottom.

"I didn't say that for your benefit," Longbottom said curtly, and Draco's eyebrows went up. Longbottom really did have a spine somewhere in there. Draco felt like he'd just found out a newt could play chess.

"I know. Thanks anyway."

Longbottom looked up, a little surprised. "You're welcome."

Draco put his paper away. "You're not going home for the whole holiday?" he addressed Weasley again.

"No, we're staying with Hermione's parents for a bit. It's going to be weird; I've never stayed with Muggles before."

Draco suppressed his immediate response of "I've never stayed at a Flobberworm lair either, I still wouldn't want to do it over Christmas." Probably not the done thing, saying something like that when Weasley and Granger had just tried to rescue him from considerable social embarrassment.

"I'll get my father something Muggle, it'll make his Christmas. Which reminds me, I should go to the owlery to put in the order for Ginny's present." He and Granger stood up and started off together.

Presents. Draco frowned. He should probably get Potter something, he realized for the first time. But how would he go about getting a gift? The next Hogsmeade visit should be soon, and they had been planning on spending part of it apart, testing the limits of their bond, but he was going to be with his Slytherin friends. What would they think if he bought something for Potter?

And how would he even figure out what to get him? He had a sudden vivid image of himself saying, "What do you think Harry would like for Christmas?" to Granger or Weasley and immediately perishing in a flaming burst of mortification.

He ground his teeth in frustration. The awkward moments just didn't seem to let up here. "Come on. Let's go back to Slytherin," he said brusquely to Potter.

"What's your problem today?" Potter asked irritably as they headed out of the Great Hall. "You've been barking at me all morning; are you going to snap out of this bastard phase any time soon?"

"I'm not barking at you."

"You are. In fact ever since that interview with the Prophet came out on Wednesday you've been miserable to live with."

"I haven't."

"Look, it went well, you git. It was a good interview, you did what your father told you to. There's been a good response to it, mostly, and it's not my bloody fault your Slytherin enemies have been quoting from it. It's not even my bloody fault that you're upset because your family's decided to switch sides."

Draco scowled. 'I wouldn't call it love - we care about each other, I suppose,' and 'He's not bad, once you get to know him,' had been Nott and Queenie's favourite quotes, but there hadn't been a scarcity of material in the article for merciless Slytherin mockery. Oddly, the quotes that got under his skin the most were not his but the ones from the reporter. 'These two boys have turned what could have been a nightmare into a warm and caring marriage,' and 'Would that more adults could behave with the courage and dignity that these young gentlemen have demonstrated' were the two that he was most thoroughly sick of hearing.

And if that stupid article was all that was wrong with his life right now he'd think himself lucky. "It's not the article."

"Then what is it? Is it what happened with Neville just now?"

"No, and shut up," he snapped. "I'm worried about my mother, all right? Does that occur to you? That families sometimes worry about each other?"

"Worried about your mother, or your aunt?"

"Her too. And don't start in on how she's a lunatic who deserves to be locked up - she's still my aunt-"

"You didn't even know her before she escaped from Azkaban two years ago-"

"Will you drop it?"

"You're fucking impossible," Potter said impatiently. "If I try to be nice to you, you snarl at me. If I just leave you alone, you sulk. And why are we going to Slytherin right now anyway?" he asked as they reached the Slytherin doors.

"Yeah, why are you going to Slytherin right now anyway?" a snide voice came from behind them and for once Draco didn't give a damn about maintaining his dignity by ignoring Nott.

"Go fuck yourself, Nott," he tossed over his shoulder as they stepped through the doors. "I was sorted into this house, same as you. I've as much right to be here as any of you."

" _He_  doesn't."

"Well  _he_  isn't the one you're objecting to, is he?" Draco turned around, glaring at Nott.

Nott crossed his arms and sneered at Draco as the common room rustled with interest. "I object to anybody who's stupid enough to ally themselves to him. You have been reading the papers, Draco? You are aware of what's going on? Or are you so firmly on their side now that you're just as clueless as they are?"

"You-"

"Nott. Shove off," Blaise said curtly from one of the corner tables. "Potter, don't forget you were going to go over those Inferi hexes with me before Monday's exam. I still haven't a clue how they work."

Pansy spoke up. "Yes, really boys, this is all quite fascinating, but do you think we could leave off the drama for a few days? Seeing as how we all have exams starting Monday?"

Nott smirked and headed off to his room, and Draco took a deep breath, dreaming of smacking that stupid condescending grin off Nott's stupid condescending face.

"Don't let him bother you," Pansy said dismissively, coming to stand close to him.

"He's right," Draco said flatly as Potter went to review with Blaise. "I don't have a clue what's going on."

"Well, I don't either. My parents aren't speaking to me about it."

"What?" Draco's gaze snapped to Pansy. "Because of me?"

"Yes. No, they're not angry at me. They just aren't telling me anything to do with the Dark Lord." He stared at her. "No, I haven't switched sides, Draco. But-"

"But I have," he said bitterly. "Whether I want to or not, I have."

"That's not the end of the world, you know."

"Feels like it to me. And why are you still associating with me anyway?"

"Beyond the fact that I just plain like you?" Pansy hesitated for a moment, then drew him aside into a relatively empty corner of the common room. "Darling, it must have reached your notice that the Dark Lord is not exactly a shoo-in for Cleverest Wizard of the Year. He's been overpowered or outwitted by Potter three times so far, that we know of - and one of those times Potter was still wearing nappies. I don't think it's impossible that he'll be beaten in the end. I believe in what he's selling, but just in case it doesn't pan out, I'd like to have a friend on the other side, should I need one."

Draco smiled. That, he could understand.

"Don't worry, Draco. Your family will come out on top eventually," she said encouragingly. "They always do. And even if they don't... not everything is about politics. I told that stupid suspicious Mudblood cow that Slytherin isn't always about who's on top, and she didn't believe me, but you should have."

There was real hurt in her voice underneath her light tone, and Draco had to look away. "I was ill, Pansy. I couldn't think straight any more."

"And I still stood by you anyway, didn't I? Still risked my family's anger to help you?"

Draco nodded.

"It's not always about who's on top," she repeated, then giggled. "Although I must say, when I said that to Granger I'd no idea I meant it literally. Then I saw your memories. Draco, darling, the things you do in the name of marital harmony. Is he worth it?"

"Pansy!"

She snickered. "Sorry, love. Come, let's join Blaise and Potter, and let's make sure next week's exams don't catch us all flatfooted. My family may be willing to forgive my association with you horrible anti-Dark Lord types, but they won't forgive me failing my December exams."

**ooooooo**

**Day 75, Saturday**

Draco glanced over the screaming crowd, their relentless red and gold garb garishly assaulting his eyes, and sighed. Here was yet another topic that wasn't covered in any of the marital literature they'd received in the first days of their bond: Awkward Quidditch For Newlyweds, AKA who to cheer for during a Quidditch match when your spouse is from your bitterest rival house. Do you cheer for his team, out of loyalty to him? Or do you cheer for their opponent, because if your spouse's team wins your team will probably be placed dead last in Quidditch points?

Decisions, decisions.

For once he found himself rather grateful that their bond still made it terribly uncomfortable for them to be around crowds. Being touched by others no longer felt like a third-degree burn, but it was still jarring and a little painful, like a knee to the groin that landed a mere half an inch away from its target. So here they were, at the very edge of the Gryffindor contingent, the excuse of the crowd a very convenient way to avoid sitting up there with all the rest of them.

The Weasleys weren't bad, he decided as he observed them. They couldn't touch Potter for skill, either as Captain or as Seeker, but they had some talent. Ron Weasley, whose goalkeeping always mirrored his mood, was doing relatively well today. It probably helped that John Bryant, the new Ravenclaw Keeper, was perhaps more useful than a wet piece of parchment in front of the goals, but only just, and that the odds were favouring Ginny Weasley to catch the Snitch.

Oh - there they went, the Ravenclaw Chasers headed for Weasley. All three of them zipping about trying to confuse him with their speed and recklessness; playing more like Gryffindors than Ravenclaws. In fact, he'd heard that no house was playing its stereotype this year. Gryffindors were being cautious and conservative, Ravenclaws were diving about like lunatics, Hufflepuffs were scaring the hell out of everyone with their take-no-prisoners fierceness, and Slytherin... suffice it to say that cunning and ambitious did not describe Slytherin's Quidditch team this year. Wretched and pitiful was rather more like it.

"Save!" Potter yelled. "Oh, good for Ron!"

"Not bad," Draco admitted.

"Should he be doing that?" Granger said worriedly, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"It's a Badler Twist, Granger. It's allowed."

"But isn't it dangerous?"

Draco rolled his eyes again.

"No!" Potter yelled as the Ravenclaws wheeled back and put another Quaffle past Weasley. "NO!! That wasn't bloody well fair-" he sputtered furiously as Madam Hooch refused to stop despite the mutinous grumbles from the Gryffindor stands.

"It's legal. Barely," Draco said.

"Barely! And you know damn well that's not how that play is supposed to be used, it's a Seeker's-"

"But that's allowed now."

"It bloody well is not!"

"Bloody well is," Draco countered.

"Since when?"

"Sometime around the end of September, if I recall correctly." Potter looked blank. "You know, our wedding anniversary? There was a meeting about it, shockingly enough you and I disagreed, which led to our current state of marital bliss... does any of this ring a bell?"

"Is that what was decided in the end?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, you twit. Did you never bother to look up the regulation again?"

"No," Potter muttered, eyes glued on the players.

"Remind me to point and laugh at you at every anniversary then."

"NO!!" Potter yelled as Ravenclaw scored again. "That's not fair!"

"It  _is_ , you git. I told you, that's-"

"Malfoy, shut the fuck up!"

"It's the new regulation-"

"And you'll get your head hexed off if you say one more word about it; that's our Keeper out there getting his arse handed to him over this damn rule-"

"You'd hex me for pointing out that it's a fair play?"

"Will you shut UP!" Granger shrilled, her eyes glued to Weasley, who was looking more and more desperate.

"It's a fair-mph-" Potter clapped a hand over Draco's mouth.

"No,  _I_  won't hex you, but there's about seventy Gryffindors behind you and I don't fancy getting turned into a giant slug along with you halfway through the game!" he shouted over the roar of the crowd, never taking his eyes off the players. "Bloody HELL!!"

"And it's 30-0 for Ravenclaw," Zacharias Smith's voice floated over the crowd. "And Keeper Ron Weasley struggles, as usual a bit off balance, not a steady player at all, but then again, being Harry Potter's friend..."

Draco scowled up at the announcer's box. "Smith. That prat."

"Your Inner Hufflepuff, remember," Potter reminded him, wincing at yet another near miss.

"Here, shove over a bit-"

"Draco!" Potter gulped and slapped down Draco's wand hand. "What are you-"

"I wasn't going to do anything permanently debilitating," Draco said defensively. "And in fact I would think you'd be grateful. I was about to make Weasley's life a little more pleasant."

"How?" Potter's attention turned back to the game.

"Heroamus." Potter shook his head, not recognizing it. "Hero-worship spell."

"What?" Potter turned to look at him.

"Get Smith suddenly charmed by Weasley. He'll start blithering about what a marvellous player he is, and Weasley's so thick he'll probably take it as genuine and put in the match of a lifetime."

There was a brief pause, then Potter started laughing.

"What?"

"You're unbelievable." He laughed, grabbing Draco and taking his mouth in a quick, heated kiss, reaching back to cuff Finnigan on the back of the head as Finnigan made a strangled noise in his throat. He broke off the kiss, still laughing, as the crowd roared - and then roared even louder, on the heels of the first outburst.

"What?! What happened?!" they both asked.

"Ron let another goal in," yelled Granger, sounding absurdly delirious about it, "but Ginny-"

"-Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins 150 to 40, despite some truly spectacular Ravenclaw plays and a rather dismal performance by the Gryffindor Keep-" Smith's voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd, as the Gryffindor team did a victory lap around the pitch.

"Come on, let's go see Ron," Granger yelled over her shoulder, heading out towards the pitch as the crowds started to leave the stands.

"We'll be there in a bit - too much jostling around right now," Potter yelled back, and she nodded and ran towards the team.

"Do you not want to celebrate with them?" Draco asked. "The crowd-contact's not so bad any more."

"I'll go later," he said, and they gazed out at the pitch as the stands rapidly emptied.

"What is it?" Draco finally asked.

"Just hoping I can play again. Hoping we both can." He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Were you really going to hex Smith?"

"Yeah, why not? He's a git. And not a terribly well-connected one, either."

"You were going to do something nice for Ron?"

"No, not really-"

"Why? It's not as though you like him at all, or think he's well-connected either."

"He's not that bad. Besides, he is well-connected: to you," Draco grinned. "Don't read more into it than it deserves."

"Thanks anyway." Potter smiled and reached for him again.

"Right, then," Draco said when they came up for air. "Let's go to your dorm and get drowned in the riot of gold and red that you lot insist on overdoing. How your eyes don't bleed in that environment is beyond me."

"Will you be celebrating with us, or hiding in the dorm room?"

"Oh, I'll be drowning my sorrows in butterbeer, for the fact that Slytherin is in dead last place."

They glanced up at the scoreboard. Hufflepuff 190, Gryffindor 150, Ravenclaw 40, Slytherin 10. "You know, that's so pitiful, it even hurts me," Potter said. Draco glared at him.

"Cheer up," Potter continued, patting his arm encouragingly. "That 10 might get you back on the team."

"From your lips to Carmichael's ears," Draco said, and they headed for the Tower.

**ooooooo**

**Day 86, Wednesday**

"Draco? Are you coming?"

"I still don't see why," Malfoy muttered rebelliously. Parkinson shared a pained look with Zabini. Both of them were fairly tired of coaxing and wheedling Malfoy and Harry to the Yule Ball.

"It's the social event of the season," she said. "You must be seen."

"Yeah, seen sitting around, watching everybody else have fun," Harry said, struggling with his formal tie. "I can't wait."

"Don't pout. It does absolutely nothing for you."

"He can pout if he wants to," Malfoy muttered, fixing Harry's tie with a wave of his wand.

"Just stay for two hours. I'll keep you company. You look very handsome, by the way," she said, practically pushing them out the common room door.

"Yeah, great," Malfoy said. "New dress robes. My heart beats pitter-pat."

"Last year you would've been quite happy with them."

"Last year I would've been happy getting under your robes," he muttered.

"Last year you did." She grinned, and he gave her a small smile.

"Come on, Draco," she said patiently. "There's no doubt going to be people watching you, possibly taking pictures, and the papers will want to see their happy couple. As will your father."

Malfoy scowled.

"Don't look like that, darling. Your father's pleased with you, the package this morning was ample enough proof of that. And well he should be; your family's star is rising again, in large part due to you. The papers have him spotted at a few very nice events lately."

"I hate reading the rubbish in the papers."

"I know, I know, it's heartbreaking. You would've killed for this kind of publicity last year. Now you do everything in your power to pretend it doesn't exist," she sighed. "You've changed so much," she said pensively, and he looked away. "You're doing your family proud, Draco. Lucius is pleased with you."

Malfoy sighed and Harry couldn't help remembering this morning, and Malfoy's closed expression as he'd opened a package from Lucius containing a new set of very high quality dress robes and a handwritten card. The first example of parental approval that Harry had seen from Lucius to his son. He would've thought that, hard as Malfoy tried to please his father, he would've been ecstatic instead of oddly subdued.

At least the rise in the Malfoys' status was translating into some lessening of the poisonous atmosphere in Slytherin. While there were still snide remarks and smirks from a sizable minority of Slytherins, a larger group now seemed carefully neutral, and a few of their opponents had even switched sides.

"Oh, 'scuse me, Draco," a fifth year boy said, narrowly avoiding bumping into Malfoy on his way into the Great Hall.

"Watch where you're going, Archer," Malfoy snapped.

"Right, so sorry," Archer nodded quickly. "So Draco, you're, erm, you're staying over the whole holiday, are you?" he said brightly.

Malfoy didn't bother to acknowledge him as he led Harry to their table, and Harry wondered if it was wrong of him to get a warm glow over Archer's kicked-puppy expression. Then he compared it to Archer's malicious glee over Malfoy's ten inches of vapourized Transfiguration essay a few weeks ago and felt better.

"I'm not a big fan of these even when I can dance," Harry muttered as they sat down. "I've never been much good at it."

"No, the phrase 'disgrace to the dance floor' was made for you."

Harry glanced around the Great Hall. At least the food looked good, and the music was interesting. And the Hall, as usual for Christmas, was decorated beautifully.

Two hours of sitting around in dress robes, listening to music. What fun. Harry ordered and slowly savoured a glass of butterbeer, and wished he could get completely drunk like he had during their suspension, just for something to do. He caught Malfoy's speculative gaze at his own glass and chuckled. "I don't think getting drunk tonight would impress your father," he said as they watched Hermione and Ron dance by. "And I don't think Parkinson could avoid charging you if the whole school saw it."

"God, you two were pathetic that night," Parkinson said. "Funny, though. And I must say it warmed my heart to be able to charge you and not Draco."

"I'm shocked," said Harry.

"Let's only stay one hour," Malfoy said.

"Oh come on, Draco, where's your Christmas spirit?" Parkinson said.

"Already on holiday."

"Well. This calls for some serious intervention." She got up and headed towards the heaping table of pastries.

"After we leave, let's go home," Malfoy said.

"Not Slytherin?"

"Not tonight."

"They've gotten a lot better over there," Harry shrugged.

"I still don't feel like dealing with a bunch of randy, half-drunk house mates who've all been partying while we sit and watch. Or who are going to be all packed up and talking about going home while we stay here."

Harry sighed. Almost everybody else was out there dancing. Almost everybody else would be gone tomorrow, seeing family or friends. But since their only choices were the Manor or the Burrow, here they would be, left behind and forgotten by everybody.

Getting drunk didn't seem like such a bad idea now. He sighed again.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, circles please," the band leader called, and Malfoy glanced at the dance floor in surprise.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"A circle dance," Malfoy said, a little puzzled, as people on the dance floor started to rearrange themselves into large circles.

"All right, you two," Parkinson said, coming back to their table. "No excuses, circle dances require no contact, so up you get. Join the party."

"Who asked for this?" Malfoy asked.

"I did," Pansy said tartly. "So you could get a chance to dance too."

"But nobody but purebloods will even know how, it's hardly ever done any more-"

"No, not normally," she said, "but as you can see-" she indicated the students rapidly filling up the floor. Hermione approached their table, smiling at Harry.

Malfoy shook his head. "Harry doesn't even know how-"

"Actually, I do," Harry said slowly. "That had nothing to do with an Ancient Runes paper the other day, did it?" he asked Hermione, and she smiled and shook her head.

"What?" said Malfoy.

"We were studying the other day, you and Pansy went to get a book from the library. Hermione started reading from a parchment in Ancient Runes that talked about a Celtic wizarding circle dance." It had been a passing remark, but Hermione had described it and Ron and Neville had mentioned they'd both learned something like it as children. They'd demonstrated the simple steps, then teased Harry and Hermione that they couldn't do it, so of course they had. It had seemed just a casual study break at the time.

"You planned this?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"Together?" Malfoy asked Parkinson.

"Well... yes," they both said, amusingly identical expressions of distaste on their faces.

And if this had been a fairy tale, Harry thought, there would've been smiles and inter-house hugs and God Bless Us Every One all around right now. As it was, Parkinson and Hermione still looked like they would rather hex each other's eyes out than share in the spirit of the season, and Millicent Bulstrode looked a little green around the edges, being around so many Gryffindors. But Zabini and Ron had actually become fairly good friends lately, and were laughing together at Harry and Malfoy's bewildered expressions, and there were plenty of welcoming smiles from the people on the dance floor.

Harry felt a small glow of warmth at their classmates and glanced at Malfoy, whose expression had gone from confusion to amusement.

Malfoy shrugged and gestured at the dance floor, his lips curving into a grin. "Shall we?"

**ooooooo**

**Day 98, Monday**

Potter actually seemed to know what he was doing today, thought Draco twelve days later as he uncorked a bottle of bat blood. Which was good, because they were starting the new year with a joint Potions-Herbology class on brewing magical fertilizers, an almost impossible task. He supposed it was Snape's way of making himself feel better about the fact that, as usual, he'd also spent the holidays here. A sort of "welcome back from your heart-warming time with family and friends, please dive into a cauldron of owl dung" present for them all.

"Draco, do you have purified adder venom yet?" Potter asked, reading over his instructions.

"No, you don't need it till the third step," Draco said.

"I thought you were supposed to boil it while the blood congealed."

"You could do that; I just never find that the effort you put into it pays off. Besides, it's quicker to use a venom distiller."

"Which I don't have."

"So use mine, you git," he said, handing over the distiller that had been his Christmas gift from Potter.

"So it is useful, then?"

"Oh, very. Who told you about it?"

"What?"

"I know you didn't think of getting it for me on your own."

"Blaise, actually," Potter said, watching the distiller extract purified venom, checking his potion to make sure it was brewing as expected.

"You're a lot better at this now," Draco observed.

Potter flashed him a grin. "Your incentives make learning this rubbish worth the effort."

"What incentives?" Granger asked, and Potter gave a start of alarm as Draco opened his mouth to answer her.

"Er-"

"I offered to tidy his desk if he read ahead," Draco said innocently.

"Oh," Granger said absently, peering at her potion. "That was nice of you."

Draco and Potter hid their smiles. It had been a good holiday, all things told. Spending a bit of time apart, getting more comfortable with distance. Spending time together without too much school or social pressure. At one point, they'd rediscovered The List, had a good laugh over it, and decided to do some of the undone items like taking out their knickknacks and putting up their rival Quidditch posters and settling into their quarters. Quarters in which they'd spent the bulk of the break, as both Gryffindor and Slytherin had emptied of almost all their friends.

They'd also spent a lot of time flying, trying to do what they could to be able to rejoin their teams some time in January. Maybe, just maybe, in time for the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game.

Of course, they'd studied. And studied, and studied, and studied some more, because their Christmas marks had been abysmal and that was just simply not on.

And the sex had been fantastic. And frequent. And creative and often rather loud.

It had been a nice holiday, nicer than Draco had expected, despite the rather ominous daily news from The Prophet. Two Ministry employees had gone missing; a member of the Wizengamot was suspected of being under Imperius; Florean Fortescue had disappeared from his ice cream parlour from one day to the next. And through it all, the Malfoy family's star continued to rise.

"Weasley, that's not - come on, mate, that's disgraceful," Blaise was saying a few cauldrons away. "Call yourself a seventh year? Five Galleons says that explodes in five minutes or less."

"You can keep your bloody Galleons, the potion's fine - oi! Hands off, Zabini!"

"My cauldron's next to yours and I don't fancy picking owl droppings out of my hair when your mess explodes. Look - there, see? You add the venom and the bubbling goes down again."

And behind them, Longbottom was arguing - in a semi-friendly way - with Pansy, who was smirking at him and saying, "Listen darling, you may be a genius in Herbology, but you're pure rubbish at Potions. Trust me on this."

Some things had really changed in their year, Draco mused.

"Longbottom," Snape said imperiously. "I see Professor Sprout's confidence in your abilities is sadly misplaced. Or perhaps she failed to accurately describe to you the fine distinction between making plants grow and making them implode. That will be ten points from Gryffindor. Evanesco!" he snapped, and Longbottom's potion disappeared. Longbottom's face darkened and he glared daggers at Snape's retreating back.

Some things had changed. Some things hadn't. Draco smiled to himself.

"It's absolutely amazing what you read these days, isn't it?" Queenie Greengrass said airily, risking Snape's wrath by reading the Prophet under her desk while she waited for her potion to congeal.

"What d'you mean?" asked Nott.

"Well, you see, here's this article about a new convalescent home near St. Mungo's, for people with permanent magical injuries. And look whose name is head of the list of donors to the project. Lucius Malfoy, being thanked publicly by the Minister of Magic, no less, and smiling as though they're old friends." She paused, shook her head. "It really is amazing how little pride some people have. And truly amazing what a few well-placed Galleons will do."

"Yes, it is," said Draco pleasantly. "Really, truly amazing."

She ignored him and turned the page. "Really amazing, too, what a few Galleons  _won't_  do. Looks like Olivander's family is offering a lot of money for the Death Eaters to return him from wherever they've taken him. Nobody's biting." She peered at the article. "Then again, of course, there's the whole issue of - oh good heavens I almost said something indiscreet." Queenie gave Draco a look of feigned shock.

Draco frowned. He hated these reminders of how out of the loop he was. Hated that he no longer knew whether to be pleased or upset at news of the Dark Lord's forces amassing. As a pureblood, the idea of the Death Eaters monopolizing the services of the best wand-maker in centuries was wonderful. As... whatever he was now, politically... it was rather disturbing.

And as the spouse of one of the people most likely to be hurt or killed in the coming battle, it was terrifying.

He hated even more the up and down nature of the situation. One moment the Prophet would report all sorts of horrifying things, and it seemed Death Eaters would be storming the Ministry and Hogwarts at any moment. Then the stories would taper off, and there would be a respite. And then back to panic. It was nerve-wrecking.

Potter leaned over his shoulder. "Don't let it bother you," he murmured.

"You know a lot of what they're saying is true."

Potter shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And besides, you know the other thing they're saying in the papers; some people have been switching sides."

"Because of my family," Draco said bitterly.

"Partly, yeah." Potter leaned closer, searching his face. "What's the matter?"

"What?"

"You get this look sometimes, like you're... I can't read it. Like you're really conflicted about something."

"Oh, what could that possibly be, Harry? The fact that the side I actually believe in is the same side that might kill me?"

"No, it's more... personal than that..."

Draco stared at him. A sarcastic remark about what could possibly be more personal than fearing for one's own life was on the tip of his tongue but was quickly discarded. He shook his head. "Don't. Don't try to read my-"

"Harry," Granger hissed. "Snape."

Draco glanced up to see Snape glaring at them and they both quickly turned back to their cauldrons, stirring and pretending great industry. After a few moments, Potter reached over, ostensibly to return the distiller, and took the opportunity to lean close to Draco's ear. "Never mind reading your thoughts. How about after class, we go back to our quarters, clear off my desk, then you start talking about politics and I'll see how quickly I can... distract you. And then you do the same for me."

"My desk. It's tidier. And sturdier," Draco whispered, discreetly adjusting himself and trying to replace the mental image Potter had created with an image of McGonagall in a tartan negligee to kill his rather badly timed arousal. "That's your solution to everything, isn't it?"

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah. Brilliant."

**ooooooo**

**Day 115, Thursday**

"You're too good at that," Malfoy said faintly, his chest still heaving, head thrown back, one hand braced against the wall, the other relaxing its tight hold on Harry's fingers.

"Reciprocity's nice, isn't it?" Harry smiled, pressing a kiss onto Malfoy's upper thigh before standing up and leaning against Malfoy, smiling at the sensation of Malfoy's rapid pulse against Harry's cheek. "Come on, we've got Charms study group at the Great Hall in a few minutes."

Malfoy groaned. "Yeah, give me a minute. I want to... savour the moment." He breathed deeply, idly running his hands over Harry's back and sides. "Thank god we have our own place. Can you imagine Finnigan's face if he walked in on this? Or Blaise or Nott, trying to get a picture for The Prophet, of The Boy Who Blew?"

"It'll be nice not having to deal with any of that after school's done."

"Where are you going to go after school?" Malfoy asked, and Harry realized with some surprise that they'd never really talked about it.

"I've got a standing invitation for the Burrow. And Ron and me always talked about getting a place together after seventh year." He frowned. "But we'll still need to be in contact fairly often for the first little while, won't we?"

"I don't suppose you'd fancy shagging at the Manor."

"D'you fancy shagging at the Burrow?"

Malfoy shuddered. "No. Nor would I want to be a guest at a flat owned by Ron Weasley. We'll need a neutral place to go."

"Not to mention your parents will probably want to keep up the Happy Family thing."

"Yeah, there's that too."

"You know, it still seems so odd to me that the fact we're both boys doesn't seem to be a problem. In the Muggle world nobody would use the fact that their son's involved with another bloke for social climbing, no matter who the other bloke was."

"Did you never fancy any other boys, before?"

Harry flushed slightly. "No! Of course not!"

Malfoy tilted an amused eyebrow at him. "Harry, has it occurred to you that it's a little odd to be so adamant about your heterosexuality to the bloke upon whom you've just performed fellatio?"

"I suppose so," Harry said wryly. "No, I don't think I ever did, not seriously. Did you?"

"Nothing serious. Just the usual, you know, professional Quidditch players and all. You don't really know where the admiration ends and the lust begins." Harry snickered. "And of course half of Slytherin's fancied Blaise at one time or another, which is too bad for the boys because Blaise is one of the most relentlessly heterosexual people in the school."

"D'you fancy any other blokes now?"

"I don't think we  _can_  fancy anybody else yet."

"We will eventually, though."

"Eventually, yeah."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling Malfoy's heartbeat slowing down, his breath evening out.

"Does that bother you?" Malfoy said, his voice quiet.

There was a brief silence.

"Does it bother you?" Harry asked.

Another, rather longer, pause, and then Malfoy looked at the clock. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Harry nodded and they separated, straightening out their clothes and gathering their books and papers. "I can't find my-"

"Charms book, yeah, it's under that pile." Malfoy flicked his wand at the mess on Harry's desk. "Last time I'm clearing your desk for you, I'm not your house elf," he said, and Harry nodded thanks and apology and grabbed the book, and they headed out the door.

And Harry was once more struck by what an odd situation they were in. He'd think he was used to it, think he'd finally adapted, and then something like this would come up. Assumptions that had to be re-examined. New realities to deal with.

And new patterns of behaviour to deal with. Like, for example, the fact that they were now able to be apart for more extended periods of time. Today they'd been able to attend almost all of Ancient Runes and Astronomy separately. It was a little uncomfortable, and they'd come straight home afterwards to 'renew the bond', but as that involved sex they considered it well worth the sacrifice.

They greeted the others in the group - mostly Slytherins, plus Ron and Hermione - and settled themselves in, though it seemed Greengrass wasn't there yet and the others were waiting for her before starting serious study. Another pleasant change: as the Malfoys' fortunes changed, they were being treated much better. Even Greengrass was occasionally being polite, though they weren't sure if that was a cause or an effect of her romance with Nott being rather shaky lately. It seemed Lucius' careful balance between support for one side's political position and the other sides' ideals was gaining him popularity. Some people were beginning to hold the opinion that if Voldemort was defeated, at least Lucius would be there to champion the cause of the more conservative purebloods. Achieve some of Voldemort's goals, whether the man himself was there or not.

"Draco?" A fifth-year Slytherin came running up. "The Headmaster wants to talk to you. Something about a message from your father."

Harry started to rise with Malfoy, and Malfoy shook his head. "No, don't, I'll be right back. It's not that far, and it'll only be for a few minutes."

"Fine," he said, giving Malfoy's shoulder a small squeeze and sitting back down.

"Potter, you're back as Seeker and Captain, right?" Bulstrode asked.

"Yeah."

"Too bad Carmichael didn't step down; Draco's worth two of him as Captain," said Parkinson.

"Too right," said Ron.

"Draco wasn't expecting him to. He's lucky Carmichael took him back at all," Zabini reminded them.

"We're all lucky; Baddock is embarrassing," said Bulstrode, whose manner towards Malfoy had been gradually warming, along with Crabbe and Goyle's. "I only wish Draco could fly this Saturday against Ravenclaw."

"He  _should_  be up Saturday. He's doing fine in the Seeker's Games," Parkinson said angrily. "It's just stupid politics, is what it is, Carmichael not letting him back yet," she said, and the table burst into a heated discussion. Harry found himself arguing in Carmichael's defence - though it was rather difficult to explain his reasoning to a bunch of people who didn't know anything about Seeking or about being bonded.

"No, I'm not exaggerating," he found himself repeating at one point, exasperated. "You need to be really focussed Seeking, and it's not easy when you're far away and the bond's sort of gnawing at you. We're both fine up there against each other - all right, he's  _more_ fine than I am, thanks, Parkinson - but in a match one would be up there alone with the other on the ground and we're neither of us ready for that. I don't even know if I'll be good to go next month."

"You'll be fine," Ron said dismissively.

"Against Hufflepuff? Have you seen the way they're playing this year?"

"It's a sad, sad day when Slytherin and Gryffindor are both afraid of Hufflepuff," noted Parkinson, and glanced up over Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned around. "Oh, you're back," he said, moving over so Malfoy could sit down.

Malfoy leaned down and spoke into Harry's ear. "I need to speak to you in private. Now."

Harry rose, frowning at Malfoy. "Is something-"

"Nothing's wrong," Malfoy assured him hurriedly, and "Everything's fine," he said to the others. "We'll be back in a few minutes." And he put a hand on Harry's elbow, steering him out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

"What is it?" Harry asked, struck by how completely closed off Malfoy felt. No way of reading his expression, other than "intense"; eyes boring into his, breath quickened. And his emotions were a bewildering jumble that Harry couldn't get a read on at all.

"What is it?" he repeated.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "Father found him. The caster of the curse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chibitoaster has an illustration of the Yule Ball, at
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/yule_ball_f.jpg


	15. January 21 - January 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to Kyllikki for betaness, even though I shredded her soul ;)

****  
**Day 115, Thursday (continued)** ****  


"What?! Who-"

"I don't know, I'd never heard of him, but somehow Father found him. He's been arrested and taken to the Ministry for interrogation, but tomorrow he'll be here. He's going to take off the curse." Malfoy swallowed hard. "We... we're going to be free."

Harry gaped at him. "T-tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

They stared at each other, and Harry distantly thought that he couldn't have described what either of them was feeling right now if his life depended on it.

"That's... incredible," he said numbly.

"Yeah." Malfoy looked down, and Harry realized he was trembling, his nerves razor-sharp. They both were. He touched Malfoy's shoulder, not sure why - to question or celebrate or comfort or be comforted or what - but decided it didn't really matter as Malfoy moved into his embrace unhesitatingly, holding him close for a long moment, then pulled back a little, smiled slightly. "You look like I felt about five minutes ago," he said a little unsteadily.

Harry gulped. "So... what happened?"

"That's all I know. Except his name is Parnassus McKay, which doesn't mean anything to me. I don't recognize him as a Death Eater, but then, I don't know all of them-" Malfoy abruptly closed his mouth, his body stiffening slightly, sudden alarm flashing through him. Harry drew in his breath sharply.

"No, don't - don't block me out yet-" he said quickly, his heart sinking.

Malfoy gave him a sharp look but took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed himself, resting his forehead against Harry's, and they lapsed into silence again.

Free, thought Harry, still more than a little stunned. No more bond. No more forced proximity, no more spending time with Slytherins, no more distance from his own friends and house, no more awkward silences whenever politics came up. No more nagging fear of being hurt if anything happened to Malfoy, no more trying to make something work that had so much stacked against it...

Free to go where he wanted. Free to play Quidditch, spend time with his own friends, think of becoming an Auror, get a flat with Ron without worrying about what Malfoy would think of it. Free to be single and seventeen years old again.

"What do we do now?" Harry said quietly when he could think semi-clearly again.

"I don't know," Malfoy replied just as quietly. "I suppose we go back in there, explain what's happened. You all right to go back?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"And then... then after that I suppose... I suppose we ought to get ready, or something - I'm not sure how, frankly, but..."

Harry shook his head, mind still reeling as they walked back into the Great Hall.

"What is it?" Parkinson asked as they came back to the study group. "What was the message from your father?"

They looked at each other uncertainly, then back at the group.

"Harry?" Hermione said worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Malfoy exchanged a small smile with Harry, then cleared his throat. "Oh, nothing's wrong. My father caught the caster of the curse, that's all."

" _What?!!_ " cried out several voices at once, and Harry had to smile at their flabbergasted expressions. He and Malfoy shared an amused glance and sat back down, realizing the study session was probably not going to happen after all.

**ooooooo**

"What was the counter-spell to that sticking charm again?" Harry asked that night.

"Parietibus Dehaerent," Malfoy said absently, and Harry nodded and repeated the words, unsticking his Montrose Magpies poster from the bedroom wall. He rolled it up, looking around the room, still trying to decide what was more disorienting: this, or what had happened back in September. It  _had_  to be the bond itself, as that had been completely unexpected, but for some reason he felt even more off-balance now than he had then.

"You missed a player," Malfoy said, flicking his wand at his own Winbourne Wasps and sticking them to their poster before he rolled it up and tucked it into his trunk, beside his Slytherin crest and his small photograph of the shrine of the Oracle of Delphi at sunset. He absently waved his wand to get rid of his bottle of butterbeer, left over from the party they'd finally left only twenty minutes ago.

Their friends had been jubilant. Amid laughter and celebration they'd decided to hold an impromptu "divorce party," which Zabini had declared should be held in the Room of Requirement because it wasn't really right to hold it in one house or the other.

"Brilliant, mate," Ron had said enthusiastically. "They didn't get the traditional wedding thing, you know, where there's separate parties before they get married and then the big one at the wedding, so let's do it backwards. We'll have a pre-divorce party tonight, with both of them, and then two separate ones tomorrow!"

It had been a good idea. And they'd had fun. Though there was nothing stronger to drink than butterbeer, everyone had gotten a little silly, and there had been some funny stories about the stupid things they'd done in the last few months, the troubles caused by their forced proximity taking on a humorous cast now that that proximity was about to be gone. Parkinson and Ron in particular had relished telling the story of seeing them drunk during their suspension, and Harry had to admire how Parkinson had been able to neatly sidestep the whole issue of why she hadn't charged Malfoy with being drunk at the time.

It had been a good party. A nice time. Gryffindors and Slytherins, and quite a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, all laughing together and caught up in the celebratory mood. Happy for their sakes, that their forced time together was coming to an end.

"Do you want to clear the closet first, or should I?" Harry asked, stacking away his books.

"You go first." Malfoy sat down, staring out the window.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked as he folded his shirts into his trunk.

"About McKay. What it'll be like meeting him." He frowned pensively. "It's really disturbing that I don't know anything about him. I don't even know if he's connected to any of our classmates. I mean I've nearly driven myself round the twist these last few months, trying to figure out who and how... I thought if he was ever found, I'd be able to say Oh now that makes sense, how could I not have suspected - but I can't."

"No."

"It's a little... I mean... it just feels so random. Like the next threat could come from anywhere."

"Welcome to my life," Harry said absently, peering at a stain on one of his shirts. "If your father found him, though, he's probably what they thought, a Death Eater."

"Maybe."

"I wonder how your father caught him."

"I don't," Malfoy said shortly.

Harry paused his packing, hesitating for a moment before asking, "Are you wondering what's going to happen now with your father?"

Malfoy tensed a bit. "Of course."

"What do you want to have happen?"

Malfoy regarded him seriously. "Do you want a fight over this?"

"Not really, no." Harry drew a deep breath. "What do you think will happen?"

Malfoy shrugged, looking away from him.

"I can't see everything going back to how it was before." Harry realized as he spoke that he wasn't just talking about Lucius. And judging from Malfoy's quick indrawn breath, so did he.

Malfoy still didn't look at him.

"Can you?"

"Why not?" Malfoy said quietly.

"You saw what I saw tonight, didn't you? Gryffindors and Slytherins at a party, together, getting along?"

"I saw that, yeah. And Slytherins talking amongst themselves. Tomorrow it'll be two separate parties. I'd say soon everything will go back to the way it was before."

Harry frowned. "It doesn't have to. There've been friendships made in the last while, like Ron and Blaise. And Dean and Tracey Davis are almost going out. And even before that, Lavender and Blaise were sort of going out a while ago-"

"Lavender and Blaise didn't work, you know that. Thomas and Tracey won't either." He shook his head, still staring out the window. "Gryffindor-Slytherin doesn't work, Harry," he said, his voice low.

"It can. It has."

"For us?" Malfoy shook his head slowly. "We spent six years hating each other. That kind of thing doesn't disappear in just four months."

"Read the Prophet some time," Harry said bitterly. "Your father seems to think it does. At least, that's what he's been telling everybody. He supported the people who killed my parents and my godfather - tried to kill me himself a few times, and I damn near killed him, and put him into Azkaban - and yet to hear him talk, it's all water under the bridge."

"And if you honestly believe that, you're more gullible than-"

"No I don't honestly believe it!" Harry snapped. "Not from him! But from you-"

"Why should I be any different?"

"You can't lie to your spouse under a new bond, Draco. You told me that."

"And the bond's not that new any more,  _Harry_." Malfoy stood up, his anger beginning to simmer under the surface. "D'you remember anything about the healing circle? Do you remember how much hate was there? That whole thing nearly went balls-up because even the people who cared about us the most almost let their hatred kill us."

" _Almost_. Do you remember why we survived? And how? Hermione and your mother, and Pansy and Neville, and Ron and your father - they all hate each other, but they put that aside and pulled us back together. And Pansy and Snape and Ron - they all had good memories to shove at us, to show us that we didn't have to keep hating each other, just because we always had."

Malfoy looked away again.

"Our... friendship is real. Blaise and Ron's friendship - it's not just going to disappear."

"Blaise's family's not committed to the Dark Lord. They could commit at any moment. And if they do-"

"Draco...  _Neville's_  family could decide to commit to Voldemort. That doesn't mean they will. Or that he'd follow them if they did."

Harry swallowed hard. "After everything we've been through together... why do you want to go back to the way we were?"

"What other choice do we have? We're not on the same side."

"We don't have to be on opposite sides, either."

"I don't believe what you believe."

"I don't care!" Harry said, frustrated.

"I do!"

"There's more to us than our political positions!"

"Yeah, there's a bond!" Malfoy said angrily. "And as of tomorrow, there won't be!"

"And that's all there is?"

"Yes!"

"Lie to yourself if you want to, not to me!"

"Go to hell!" Malfoy started to walk away.

"Draco!" Harry grabbed his arm and Malfoy pulled away.

"Fuck, don't do this to me, don't-" he said, his voice tense.

"I'm not letting it end like this," Harry said angrily.

"Fine, then let's go back to the party, just tell them to split the festivities early-"

"Fuck the party, I don't want-"

"And, and I don't want-" Malfoy turned away and Harry suddenly realized he was on a very thin edge, holding himself together through sheer force of will.

He stepped back. "I - I'm sorry." He dropped his hand. "Go, if you want to. But..." he swallowed hard. "This is the last night that..." he trailed off. "It doesn't have to be like this."

Malfoy stood, staring at the floor, and Harry could sense about a dozen conflicting impulses warring for supremacy in him, before he suddenly turned back to Harry and took him into his arms.

"Fuck, I'm sorry-" he murmured into Harry's neck.

"No, I-"

"Shut up." He covered Harry's mouth with his own and Harry responded eagerly to the one thing between them that didn't require any effort, the one thing that could always bring them back from whatever edge they teetered on.

"Oh, god yes," he whispered as Malfoy pulled him towards their bed and drew him down to it and on top of him, their fingers already busy with buttons and zips.

"Merlin, yes," Malfoy breathed against his hair, hastily tugging Harry's clothing open.

"D'you-"

"Hurry up-" Malfoy pushed himself up, removing the last of his clothing, rolled over and trapped Harry under him, reaching for the small bottle of oil and handing it to Harry and latching onto Harry's mouth, gasping as the oil touched his skin, enthusiastically helping Harry and urging him on. "No, I'm ready, I want you-" and Harry groaned as Malfoy eased him in quickly, and he bit back a curse as his eyes closed and he dug his head back into the pillow. He opened them again to see Malfoy drop his head back and move sensuously, and he bit his lip. God, Malfoy was so amazing when he did this. Harry almost felt like he could come just from watching Malfoy moving over him, never mind the physical sensations it produced.

Although those were bloody brilliant too. He pushed up, grabbing onto the headboard, eyes closing again, hearing their gasping cries - it felt like poetry when Malfoy rode him like this, it felt like heaven on earth, so damn perfect, and then he sat up and pulled Malfoy close, their lips coming together as their movements became more urgent.

And then there they were. Holding each other tightly, gasping into each other's mouths. Eyes squeezed shut, almost melting into one another, so in tune with one another. So fucking perfect.

And it was going to be over as of tomorrow.

They held each other tightly, their breath evening out slowly, and finally Malfoy took a deep breath and carefully got off of him and they lay back down together, Harry absently running his fingers through Malfoy's hair and Malfoy slowly tracing small patterns onto Harry's chest, each lost in his thoughts. Trying very hard to not think about the fact that this would be the last time they did this together.

There were many things to look forward to, about ending the bond, Harry told himself. Not trying futilely to maintain his study area neat so as not to annoy Malfoy; not refereeing between Malfoy and Ron, who still occasionally butted heads; not having to deal with Slytherins and their charming power plays; not missing his friends...

He was distracted from his thoughts by a soft sigh from Malfoy.

"What?"

Malfoy shook his head slightly. "You know... not that I'm not glad the bond's going to be gone, but... it's going to be weird, not shagging regularly any more."

Harry smiled. "Yeah. That part's not so bad."

"Don't you feel like a bit of a twit now, for keeping us both waiting for it for over a month?"

Harry chuckled. "A bit, yeah."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Next time you're involved with someone, do try to skip the whole shrinking violet phase and hurry on to the good part, would you?"

Harry swallowed hard, firmly making himself ignore the contradiction between Malfoy's casual tone and his turbulent emotions. "I'll try, yeah."

"It's funny," Malfoy mused. "I knew we'd eventually be able to date other people... just didn't expect it to be so soon. I mean, I thought we'd be able to in maybe a month or so, but I wasn't going to, not till after we left school. And not just because my father would've swallowed his tongue if anything like that came out in the Prophet."

Harry smiled at the mental image.

"Ginny Weasley's had a thing for you for years, hasn't she?"

Harry chuckled. "Are you asking if I'm going to try to sleep with her, now that it won't be - what did you call it, disgracefully unfaithful?"

Malfoy laughed. "God her face when I said that, remember? Like she'd swallowed a Skrewt blast-side up."

"It was pretty tactless."

"Because she's been pining after you forever?"

"Ginny hasn't pined since first year, I don't think."

"Pansy swears she just thinks of you while she's with... well, everybody else. Busy girl, from what I've heard."

"Any time you feel like living dangerously, go ahead and repeat that where Ron can hear you."

Malfoy snickered. "Would you sleep with her though, if she wanted to?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. She's Ron's sister. I don't think it'd work out in the long run."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You know, you're not actually supposed to be settling down for life at our age. It's ridiculous, being a married seventeen-year-old."

"Is it any more ridiculous than being a divorced seventeen-year-old?"

Malfoy winced. "Good point. Well anyway, I don't intend to go into withdrawal. I'll probably see if I can convince Pansy to... indulge me."

Harry snickered, firmly hushing up the part of his brain that bristled at the thought, hoping Malfoy wasn't paying too close attention to his emotions. Of course he felt a stab of jealousy right now, but that would go away with the ending of the bond. He hoped. "You don't have to worry about finding anybody permanent anyway. Your parents'll be doing that now, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Malfoy said, and brightened a little. "Yeah, we'll both be able to get what we want. I'll get the political alliance and you'll get the whole Muggle thing with the flowers and hearts and kids and so forth. Should be pretty easy for both of us, too," he chuckled. "If we could make marriage work with each other, we should be able to make it work with anybody."

Harry smiled, despite the bizarreness of the conversation.

"You might even get to have sex with a girl some day, too."

"Is it very different?"

Malfoy snickered. "Well from where I'm sitting - a little sore, by the way - yeah, just a bit." He thought for a moment. "Other than that, though... yeah. They're... I don't know, softer. Touchier, too. Everything takes a lot longer. Which is not necessarily a bad thing."

"No, not always." Harry yawned as Malfoy's fingers combed through his hair, absently untangling one particularly long knot.

"It's... it's probably going to be weird, at first, though," Malfoy said, and Harry could feel the hesitancy in his voice.

"Yeah."

Malfoy seemed to be on the verge of saying something - and then he sighed and shrugged. "Just have to get used to it, though, and it'll be all right."

Harry held him closer. No, it's not going to be all right, he suddenly wanted to say. He pushed that thought away and concentrated instead on the pleasantness of their embrace. Might as well; this was the last time he'd feel it.

Malfoy was stroking his cheek, his touch gentle and so very familiar now. What would it be like, to not feel that any more? To go to sleep alone? He took Malfoy's hand and laced their fingers together, nuzzling into Malfoy's neck and breathing in deeply. Chuckled as he felt Malfoy starting to get aroused again.

"You're joking," he said.

Malfoy smiled, a little embarrassed, then shrugged. "Might as well," he said. "You know, last chance and all." Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to think about how Malfoy's voice would probably sound casual and off-handed to anyone who couldn't feel his inner turmoil right now. As Harry wouldn't be able to, as of tomorrow.

"Might as well," Harry said, returning the smile and kissing him, and Malfoy started to move down his neck to his chest, slowly going lower. "Draco..." he whispered, closing his eyes to concentrate on Malfoy's lips and tongue working their way down his chest and stomach. "Can you... do you want to top?"

Malfoy froze, hovering over his stomach, and there was a long silence.

"You're joking."

"No."

Malfoy made a sound in his throat and moved back up, gathering Harry in his arms and burying his face in Harry's hair.

"What?" Harry said nervously.

"Just... you... you  _idiot_ ," he said, his voice muffled. "It's the last night we'll - and you..." He shook his head slowly. "Just... god, fuck you, Harry," he said hollowly.

"That is the general idea," Harry said a little unsteadily, and Malfoy smiled slightly. "Do you not want to?"

"I want to. Just... why now?"

"I... I thought we'd have more time. I wanted to, before, but..."

Malfoy nodded, cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Malfoy gazed at him and Harry reflected that, before their bond, he would've sworn the only emotions Malfoy could feel were contempt, malicious humour, and cowardly fear. But he'd seen so many more sides to him since their bond. Seen him nervous, thoughtful, aroused, amused, tired, affectionate, joyful... and tender and serious, like he was right now. There was so much more to Malfoy than he'd ever suspected, even after seeing him almost every day for six years.

Harry sighed and lay back, letting Malfoy lead, arousal slowly growing as they touched. So familiar, all of this. So many times they'd done this, learned what each liked. He knew the exact spot at the side of his neck that always got Malfoy squirming. The rough strokes that brought him to the edge quickly. The noise in his throat that meant he was close. And Malfoy knew so much of him; the way to hold him, the way he preferred to be kissed, the way he liked it sometimes when Malfoy held his hands tightly as they moved together, so that he couldn't quite move freely...

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, gesturing at the oil, and Harry nodded, closing his eyes. Malfoy took his mouth in a kiss and Harry lost himself in the sensations, Malfoy's lips warm and smooth on his own, one hand stroking his face while the other touched him with the oil, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy from the two. Lips and tongue and fingers, making him relax bonelessly, making him shiver, wanting so much to feel Malfoy...

He gasped in slight pain, feeling Malfoy's concern and quickly catching Malfoy's mouth with his own as Malfoy pulled back a little. Gasped again as Malfoy's fingers moved inside him.

"God, that does feel good," he murmured, a little surprised, and Malfoy chuckled.

"Did you think I was faking it when you did that?"

"No, but... ohgod." He choked back a groan, the need to come building up more and more rapidly. "That's... bloody hell, why didn't I do this sooner?"

"Don't say that till we're done," Malfoy said. "This is... I'm going to - it's going to hurt, you know that, right?"

"I don't care." He grabbed Malfoy and pulled him in for another kiss. "The only thing that hurts right now is I need to come so fucking bad, and you're certainly taking your time about this," he said, frustrated.

"Patience," Malfoy laughed.

"Screw patience," Harry said, pulled Malfoy on top of him, wrapping his legs around Malfoy's hips. "I don't have all night, here, Draco," he said, and Malfoy snickered.

"Pushy, aren't you?"

"Please, god, just move, please," he whispered, so over-sensitized it was driving him crazy. Malfoy was keeping him on such a fine edge it was almost infuriating, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to speed things along.

"I'm... I don't want to hurt you," Malfoy admitted softly, and kissed him again, his hands and lips drawing Harry's arousal to fever pitch, until he couldn't stop himself from moaning continuously. "Harry... are you sure?"

" _Fuck_  yes, please, I said  _yes_  already, please..." he whispered, and part of his mind wondered at how he could feel at once so desperate to finish this and so desperate to hold on to it as long as possible.

Malfoy took a deep breath and moved, and Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip. Malfoy was right, it did hurt, quite a bit, actually. But that didn't really matter, because he and Malfoy were -  _finally_  - doing something so intimate that he'd die to think of doing it with anybody else, and all he could think, beyond the quickly receding pain and dizzying arousal, was that he'd been a bloody idiot for not doing it before. And that he could definitely see why Malfoy hadn't minded, at all, not being on top.

So strange, to feel so powerful while essentially powerless. Another person's body in his, another person in control of most of what was going on - and yet he didn't feel used or afraid or resentful or any of what he'd feared to feel. It was like the feeling he always got when he topped, that Malfoy was granting him an incredible privilege, was turned around on him and he could feel the sense of wonder that Malfoy felt at being allowed to do what he was doing. His intense concentration, the care he was taking to make sure Harry enjoyed himself at least as much as Malfoy did.

And the sense of letting go was unbelievable. Something that really wasn't there when he topped, as he was always a bit nervous that he'd accidentally hurt Malfoy. Letting go and letting Malfoy do what he would, feeling Malfoy trembling as he thrust into him, holding Harry close and carrying him and taking care of him.

He tossed his head back, groaning with pleasure as Malfoy laced their fingers together, holding Harry's hands down on either side of them, winding him up even tighter before finally, finally thrusting just that tiniest bit harder... and they cried out together as they came.

**ooooooo**

**Day 116, Friday**

Draco checked his desk one last time. Nothing left behind. He opened the drawers of their sitting room cabinet. Nothing there either. Potter was finishing with his dresser, making sure he had all his clothes and none of Draco's.

"Erm... Draco..." Draco turned around. Potter was holding a set of dress robes. "I don't know the etiquette here... I mean, about the Christmas presents. I don't know - d'you want them back, or-"

"I've enough dress robes of my own," Draco said, amused. "Besides, that colour does nothing for me. Why, do you want the distiller back?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with it," Potter pointed out.

"You could use it to distil things, you know."

"No. Keep it, it's yours." Potter turned to put the robes into his trunk. "Do you want to keep this?" he asked, gesturing at a set of Quidditch balls they'd bought so that they wouldn't have to go to the Quidditch hut every time they flew.

"No, you keep them."

"Thanks," said Potter, and locked up his trunk. Draco buttoned up his shirt, glancing around their quarters distractedly.

"Oh, thanks," he said as Harry handed him his tie on his way to the washroom. He put it on, watching as Potter packed his toothbrush and shaving potion and started to brush his hair. He caught Harry's eyes in the mirror over his shoulder and took the hair ribbon from him, tying his hair back. Harry smiled at him in the mirror, put away his brush and left the washroom, and Draco finished his own morning routine and packed his belongings too, hesitating briefly before tossing out the half-empty bottle of patience potion. Hadn't used it since shortly before their final hospitalization, three months ago, he realized. Obviously didn't need it any more.

Perhaps he'd been too quick to toss it, he thought irately as he entered their sitting room and saw that Potter still hadn't quite cleared everything. And he looked like he was searching for one of his textbooks, which, no surprise, was on the bottom of a pile of paper on his desk. He picked up the papers and tossed the book at Potter.

"That's the last time I'm clearing your desk for you," he said, wincing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Potter nodded tightly.

One final check of the rooms. All stripped down. Everything that had made it theirs, their books and clothing and pictures and knickknacks, were all gone, and now it was just an empty set of rooms with two small piles of personal belongings next to the front door. The elves would come in and return their things to their dormitories while they were being unbonded, and that would be that.

They headed for the door. At the last minute, he reached out and stopped Potter, not knowing how to say what he needed to say, but knowing he couldn't just say nothing.

"Harry." Potter looked at him questioningly. Draco cleared his throat. "This... this might get messy. With - with my family, I mean, after we're - after the bond's gone. I don't want it to, but..."

"What do you mean?"

"My father..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"Your father talked to you about what he would do if he found the caster?"

He nodded slowly.

"Will it involve putting anybody in danger?"

"Not really. It just might be... ugly."

"I wouldn't expect any less from your father," Potter said brusquely, and Draco tried to find it in himself to feel offended for his father's sake, but couldn't quite manage it. He looked away, and Potter sighed and touched his shoulder. "Sorry."

Draco swallowed. "If anything happens... it... it won't come from me." He cleared his throat. "Try to remember that, will you?"

"I will," Potter said, his eyes troubled, and gently pushed him out the door.

**ooooooo**

So this was Parnassus McKay, Draco thought an hour later as they waited for everything to be ready. A rather large group was in Pomfrey's office in the hospital wing: himself and Potter, Father, McGonagall, Pomfrey, a Ministry Record Keeper, a mediwizard from St. Mungo's, and Parnassus McKay, with shining shackles binding him to two strapping Aurors. Apparently the arrangements surrounding today's event had been detailed and exhaustive, to judge from the sheer number of people present, pieces of parchment involved, and formality of the proceedings.

He wished for the tenth time that they hadn't been told to only speak to McKay during the unbonding. Because that meant they couldn't ask the one question they both wanted answered the most: why the hell McKay had done this to them in the first place. Not that they didn't have a pretty good idea, but it would've been nice to get confirmation from McKay himself.

"All right, I think we're just about ready," the Record Keeper said, and motioned over Draco and Potter, flourishing a long scroll with the words "Dissolution of Marriage Bond" written across the top. "We just need you two to write your names here, and sign here, indicating that you agree to dissolve the bond." Draco took the quill, wrote and signed his name, handed it to Potter.

"We had to make up a new parchment for you, you know," the Record Keeper said conversationally as Potter wrote his name. "All of the ones at the Ministry say things like 'Adultery' and 'Irreconcilable Differences' and 'Abandonment' under the cause. We had to make one up to say 'Involuntary Bond'. Our oldest Record Keeper said she'd seen one when she was a girl. I didn't want to ask when that was." Potter finished signing and stepped back.

"Right," said the Record Keeper brightly. "That's it for the paper for now. The rest gets done after the unbonding. Professor McGonagall will be one witness, Madam Pomfrey can be the other," he said, and beckoned over McKay and his two Aurors. "Now, stand facing each other and clasp right hands together," he said, moving so that McKay could stand before them.

Draco looked at McKay curiously as McKay's right hand was released and a wand placed in it, his left hand still shackled to an Auror.

McKay didn't meet their eyes. Looked rather green. Really didn't seem like a Death Eater, either; he looked scared of his own shadow. Though for some reason, Draco got the feeling that he was not a timid person by nature. Just a man who was scared to death of Draco's father, who had been staring at him fixedly the entire time.

Draco glanced at Potter, standing nervously before him.

McKay pointed his wand at their clasped hands and stammered, "L-lux Vinculum," and Draco and Potter looked down. A shimmering band, closely resembling Celtic knotwork, wound around their wrists. Draco tentatively tried to move his hand and found it held fast.

"D-do you wish to end your bond to one another?" McKay asked them.

"Yes," they answered.

"Do you both desire this of your own free will?"

"Yes."

"Then no longer are you one, but two free persons, free of one another and free to let the paths of your lives diverge. Finite Matrimonium."

The band of light flared briefly, then faded and winked away.

McKay seemed to draw in on himself, chewing his lip and darting a nervous glance at Lucius.

"That's... it?" Draco asked.

"That's it," said the Record Keeper cheerfully as the Aurors took McKay's wand away again and re-shackled him.

The Healer came forward. Waved his wand over them, muttering a few spells. "How do you feel?" he asked Draco absently.

"All right."

"How does he feel?" the Healer asked, nodding at Potter.

Draco opened his mouth to speak - and closed it. Blinked. Looked up at Potter, who was staring at him in puzzlement.

Nothing. He couldn't feel anything from Potter. Potter was standing right in front of him, still holding his hand, but Draco felt no emotions other than his own. He swallowed hard. It was like suddenly losing his eyesight.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the Healer prompted him.

"I... I don't know."

"Very good," the Healer smiled. "You just need to let go and the unbonding will be complete."

Potter was blinking rapidly, a faint frown on his face. He seemed as disoriented as Draco, but Draco couldn't be sure. Couldn't feel him at all. They stared at one another, searching each other's faces for some kind of clue as to what the other was feeling. Potter started to let go of his hand, then tightened his grip instead and stepped a little closer to Draco, and Draco did too, stilling the part of him that felt somewhat uncomfortable with doing this in front of Father.

He couldn't not respond. Couldn't go from marriage to nothing, just like that. Potter hesitantly ran his free hand up Draco's shoulder to his cheek, and Draco lifted his hand to Potter's face, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind Potter's ear. Screw Father, who was probably glaring daggers at him.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then Potter gently let go of him and stepped back.

"The disorientation is normal," the Healer said reassuringly. "Well, not really, since most couples who divorce have been bonded for quite a while and usually have become estranged, so their bond is almost never as deep as yours. But cases of people dissolving new bonds show that it's perfectly normal to feel off-balance for some days following the unbonding." He finished examining Draco and turned to Potter. "Don't worry if you still have feelings for one another; that'll go away too. Think of the need to be together as a habit; you just need to break it, and it'll go away." He put down his wand, indicating he was done examining them.

"Right, well, Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, you just need to sign this-" The Record Keeper stepped aside to allow them to sign the witnessing parts of the record.

"It's good that this was done on a Friday," the Healer added. "You won't be near one another until Monday at least. You may also wish to look over your class schedules, see if you can change any of them. The new term has just started, so there shouldn't be a problem with missing too much of the class material."

"Y-yeah, we talked about it," Draco said, trying to regain his equilibrium. "I'll probably switch back to the Slytherin Charms class."

"That's it?"

"We can't really switch the others. Besides most of them are joint classes anyway."

"He'll be doing Charms while I'm at lunch, then I'll do Charms while he's at lunch," added Potter.

"Do you have any free periods at the same time?"

"Yeah, one - there weren't any other classes to replace it with."

"Don't spend it together," the Healer advised. "At least, not for the first few weeks. It'll just make it harder to detach." He made a note in his records. "Well, that's it for me. You're free to go, medically speaking."

"And the legal part's all done," said the Record Keeper cheerfully. "Welcome back to singlehood, boys."

Draco's father cleared his throat. "Draco, we have much to discuss," he said, and glanced at Potter impatiently, clearly wanting him to move away.

"Potter?" McGonagall said gently. Potter gave her a small smile and shook his head, and left the office. Draco watched him go, suddenly struck by the fact that for the first time in months, he couldn't feel Potter walk away from him.

"Draco. We have much to discuss," his father repeated impatiently, and Draco gulped and nodded his head, forcing himself to look away from the door that had just shut behind Potter.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for your help in apprehending McKay," one of the Aurors said stiffly, and Draco could clearly sense the contempt he felt for his father. Probably knew or suspected that whatever Father had done to catch McKay probably should've landed him right back in Azkaban.

Father inclined his head courteously, contempt for the Auror clear in his gracious smile as well. "You're very welcome," he said formally. "Always glad to be of service." He spared McKay one last glance, and Draco shivered at McKay's instinctive recoil. "Now, if you have no more need of us?" he said politely.

"No, thank you, sir, you're both free to go," the Auror said, and Father led Draco out the door and into a courtyard, setting a scrambling spell around them as soon as they were outside.

Draco drew his robe closer to himself, shivering a little, envying Father his warm, fur-lined cloak.

"Very well, I'm glad that's over," Father said briskly, and impatiently waved his wand over Draco as he registered Draco's shivering. "Calorum. I haven't much time, so do pay attention. I am going to the Dark Lord with news of what's happened, and of McKay."

Draco blinked. "McKay? Was he a-"

"Yes," Father said shortly. "And that is part of the reason why I must see the Dark Lord as soon as possible. I've arranged it so that McKay's surrender to the Aurors will not damage our cause, though it took a great deal of effort to do so." He paused. "I have also been able to find... compensation to offer him," he said carefully. "But I am not sure that it will be enough."

Draco stared at him, his unease from the unbonding forgotten for the moment.

"The Dark Lord is not a forgiving man. I hope that what I have is enough to excuse my actions, but in case it is not, I have left letters with our solicitors with instructions for them - and you and your mother - as to what to do in case I... go missing."

Draco swallowed hard. Oh Mordred.

It had always seemed so exciting, before, when Father went before the Dark Lord, but now he could only feel dread. Father was going into danger and facing god only knew what, and god only knew when or whether he'd return, and Draco had just lost his spouse and he couldn't lose his father as well...

He lowered his eyes, impatiently pushing down the urge to show his dismay - cry, or break down somehow, grab Father and tell him not to go - and then he heard his father clear his throat.

"Draco." Father touched his arm, and Draco looked up, startled. Father never touched him. Nobody touched him, except Harry. "You need not worry. I would not go foolishly into a dangerous situation." He smiled slightly. "I believe everything will be all right; I'm merely warning you of the chance that things might go wrong because you're old enough to not be shielded from unpleasant possibilities."

Draco nodded, swallowing hard, and hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "Be careful." He mentally kicked himself - stupid thing to say, really, as though his father wouldn't be careful.

But Father didn't frown disapprovingly at him. Merely nodded and gave him a small smile. "I will be." He pulled his cloak closer to himself. "Now, put all of this out of your mind. Concentrate on your studies. I'm sure this situation will feel unsettling at first, but do as the Healer suggested and you'll be all right. Just concentrate on comporting yourself as befits our family, as you have for the last few months."

Damn it, he thought as Father walked off. Why could he not just enjoy his father's approval, rare as it was? Why did he have to think about the implications of what Father was about to do?

**ooooooo**

Draco stretched and glanced at the table where a group of sixth years were levitating a bunch of firewhiskey bottles as the party wound down, and decided it was late enough that he could go to bed without anybody teasing him about leaving his own divorce party early. Two parties in two days was a little much, and Draco hadn't felt much like celebrating tonight, no matter what his house mates thought. He just felt tired and wanted to go to bed.

Nice party, all in all, though. Despite his misgivings when he'd walked into the common room after the unbonding and abruptly realized that, with Potter and his Gryffindor friends gone, this party could turn into a good old fashioned Slytherin Potter-bash. Thankfully, there had been none of that. Plenty of dirty jokes about Draco taking advantage of his newly single status; almost no reference to Potter at all.

"Is that your doing?" he'd quietly asked Pansy at one point.

"Not really. Though I may have mentioned that we don't know what's going to happen in the future. Vague enough that nobody could possibly pin it down, but clear enough that they'd find other things to joke about."

"Why?"

"Darling," she'd smirked at him, "let's just say I'm making sure the depths of your debt to me know no bounds."

"It's beginning to make me rather nervous, actually," he'd joked.

"And so it should," she'd said smugly.

He glanced around the common room for her, and found her in a corner facing off against Queenie Greengrass and a few of her sneering, smirking sixth-year cronies. Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out the nature of their furious whispering. Looked like a regular female hair-pulling thing, but considering the alliances of the girls involved...

Queenie really was a bitch, he mused as he watched her digging away at Pansy. Not that Pansy wasn't too, when she was in a mood, but Queenie was just petty and mean for the fun of it. No class or elegance or sense of humour about it, either.

A royal pain in the arse when she was about to get her period, too, as were the girls with her - all part of an illicit Slytherin girls' Moonblood Magic coven, and all due right around now. He sighed. Snape tried so hard to suppress the Moonblood covens that sprang up every year. Not only was it considered Dark Magic, it was also hellish for the rest of them to be caught in the fallout of adolescent girls dealing with their hormones and volatile moon magic affecting them in unpredictable ways.

Hm... they were due, weren't they? And Queenie had been abusing Pansy for long enough, and was rather foolishly wearing white trousers...

"Flumen Mensanguina," he murmured in her direction, and was rewarded by Queenie's suddenly slightly alarmed expression. A quick shake of her head, eyes darting all over the common room, a frantic whispered conference with her cronies, and off she went, her robe wrapped around her waist and her friends huddled around her.

Pansy stared after them, puzzled by the sudden evaporation of their fight. She looked around and caught Draco's smug smile from across the room, came over and sat down next to him, hugging him tightly and not even bothering to ask him how he'd gotten rid of Queenie and company. "I'm so glad you're back," she sighed happily.

"Yeah. Me too." He yawned. "We should go to bed, though."

"Goodness, Draco, you'll have to learn to flirt all over again if that's the best line you can come up with these days," Pansy snickered, and Draco smiled. "Actually, you're right, we do need to sleep. I think I may have stayed up a little too late last night at your pre-divorce party."

"We all need to go to bed," Millicent groaned. "Quidditch tomorrow. Have to be braced for the inevitable fall. Why your father couldn't have found McKay last week..." she sighed grumpily and started off to the girls' dorm, a butterbeer clutched in her hand, weaving only slightly.

"You'll be no earthly good for it tomorrow," Draco said to her disapprovingly.

"I care," she muttered gloomily. "We're doomed anyway. Potter might as well have made Baddock's Scrotalpox permanent. Come on, Pansy," she said, and Pansy gave Draco one last hug and followed her.

"Odd, that it's just you here," said Blaise as they went down the hall to their own room, where Crabbe and Goyle were already snoring. "Is it weird, not being around him?"

Draco shrugged. "A bit. Healer said everything should be back to normal before Monday, though."

"It's going to be so strange, you not sitting with him in class any more."

"I sat apart from him before. I'll just go back to that, that's all."

"Have you talked to your father..."

"No. I don't know anything."

Blaise nodded. Fair enough. "Well, g'night."

"Good night," Draco said, and slid into his bed, which abruptly seemed rather large and cold. He drew up the covers, trying to warm himself, needing... feeling appalled at how much and how deeply he suddenly yearned for another body there. Not necessarily Harry. Just somebody. Somebody to hold, to warm him. To keep him company through the night.

It's a habit, that's all, he told himself. A habit I can break.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, pushing away all thoughts of Harry. Wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly, concentrating on peace and serenity and rest.

No good.

Fine, then. He picked up his wand. Dormitas, he whispered, and felt himself sink into sleep.

**ooooooo**

**Day 117, Saturday**

Harry kept his eyes on the players as the crowd around him cheered the latest wild dive by the Ravenclaw Chasers. He was not going to look across the pitch to the Slytherin stands. He was not going to try to locate Draco in the sea of green and silver. He was going to keep his eyes on the players and his mind on the game. He was going to think about strategy, training his team, getting pointers from Ravenclaw to use against Hufflepuff in Gryffindor's next match, and getting clues as to how to beat Slytherin when Gryffindor went up against them near the end of the year.

He was going to thank god Draco wasn't playing today, because he really didn't know if he would've been able to stand that. He wouldn't have come at all, if Draco had been playing. In fact, he wasn't too sure it he should have come to this game either.

No, that was silly. Of course he had to come. It was Quidditch, and his life was going back to normal, and "normal" included attending Quidditch games.

"Normal" just required him to break a few habits - namely constantly having Draco by his side and in his thoughts. Habits could be broken. For example, though he'd acquired the habit of never touching anybody and felt hellishly uncomfortable right now in the middle of the crowd, he was forcing himself to get used to it and it wasn't that bad. Hermione was helping him, greeting him with a warm hug when he came back from the unbonding, putting a hand on his shoulder every so often, gently pushing him out the common room door this morning. And though he cringed at it inwardly, he was quickly learning to not do it outwardly.

People could get used to anything. He'd gotten used to being married; he would bloody well get used to being single. Divorced. Whatever he was now.

Another Quaffle in for Slytherin, and the Slytherin stands cheered as the Ravenclaws groaned in frustration. Slytherin was doing pretty well, at 50-10. The Ravenclaw Keeper was really going to sink his entire team if they didn't replace him. Which they probably wouldn't; replacing a player in mid-year for anything other than suspension or serious injury just wasn't that common, except on the Slytherin team.

Once again Harry wondered what it would be like when Draco played Seeker for Slytherin's final match against Gryffindor. Turned his thoughts away, because he was not supposed to be thinking of Draco.

It was all right, though, the fact that he still was thinking of him. That he still felt pretty much the same as before the unbonding, except for not being able to sense Draco's thoughts and feelings. It would've been bizarre to  _not_  think of him. To not miss him last night, not wake up this morning feeling totally bereft. They'd shared a bed for almost four months; four months of waking up with a warm presence by his side, Draco's head on his shoulder, their legs intertwined, Draco's arm around his waist. Draco's scent was still on the bedclothes in Harry's bed in Gryffindor. Of course he'd woken up disoriented and frustrated, going from a vivid dream and morning arousal to an empty bed with nobody to help him deal with it. What he was feeling was perfectly natural, and would go away in time.

Ginny gasped and grabbed his arm as the Ravenclaws executed yet another insane manoeuvre, and he winced as they almost crashed into the stands. Got the Quaffle in, though, of course. Bloody hell, he was gaining new respect for Ron for not having completely collapsed in a gibbering wreck when he was up against them in the second game of the year.

"Ten more points to Ravenclaw!" Smith's voice crowed over the crowd as the Ravenclaws cheered and the Slytherins muttered in discontent. "And Ravenclaw - oh!" Smith couldn't follow the action fast enough as a Ravenclaw Chaser was accidentally bumped right off her broom by a teammate, who instantly swerved down and caught her on his own broom, chased down hers, flicked her onto it and zoomed off without missing a beat.

"A Travers Save!!" Smith shouted as the crowd let out its collectively held breath and cheered wildly. " _Beautifully_  executed - apparently somebody was taking lessons from Potter and Malfoy, and a good thing too, considering the risky way Ravenclaw's Chasers are flying this year - and Slytherin Beater Bulstrode-"

Harry lost the thread of Smith's commentary as his eyes went unerringly to the blond head on the other side of the pitch, and he and Draco grinned at each other briefly before both deliberately turned away.

They had perfected that move, the two of them, though the first time they'd done it had been an accident; Draco had accidentally knocked Harry off his broom and then swooped down so quickly Harry had hardly registered he was falling before he was on Draco's broom, and they'd flown crazily down, catching up with Harry's broom. Harry had leaped onto it without letting himself think about how insane it was to jump from one broom to another. And  _then_  they realized they'd just done a Travers Save.

They had to stop for a few minutes, though, a bit shaky from the realization that they'd very narrowly escaped death, because if Harry had been seriously hurt the shock probably would've killed Draco, and then Harry would've died too.

And yet once they steadied a bit, they realized that the whole thing had also been a lot of fun, and they stopped their Seeker's Game in order to practice the move on purpose, in case they ever needed to do it again. Which, the way their games went, they'd almost be sure to do.

They had done it again. Many times. In the middle of Seeker's Games, during practice drills, or just for fun. Smoothly and beautifully, and perfectly matched.

And they never would again.

It's just a habit, being with him, Harry told himself. A habit I can break. Like not wanting anybody to touch me and missing him and not wanting to sleep alone. I'll get used to it and then I won't think about it any more.

He made himself cheer with the rest of the Gryffindors as Ravenclaw's Seeker caught the Snitch.


	16. January 25 - February 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to beta!Kyllikki, without whom this would all really suck.

****  
**Day 119, Monday** **  
**

"... up once in a while," Pansy was saying through her teeth when Draco finally registered that she was talking to him.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said that you look like a wet day in a cemetery. Do try to look up once in a while."

"Oh." He shook his head, bringing himself into the here and now. He had plenty of time to think when he was alone; right now he needed to be alert and awake. Especially since he knew people were watching him. First day back to class after major life change and all that. Again.

Always Potions, Draco mused. The first class after being bonded, first class after their suspension. And now the first class after unbonding. Always, Potions was the class where they first had to face new circumstances, with Snape's sharp eyes evaluating them, his sharp tongue taking a strip out of Harry whenever he was vulnerable in any way. It was probably too much to hope that Snape might not do that today of all days.

"We don't have that cheering potion assignment due yet, do we?" he asked Pansy, grasping for something to bring himself out of his internal musings.

"No, that's for tomorrow. You have started it, though, right?"

"Oh, yeah, it's almost done. I just haven't figured out the common fix for the giggling side effect."

"Bat wings," Pansy said as they walked into class and she strode to the front of the class, clearly expecting him to follow. She sat and gestured him to take the seat next to her as the other Slytherins took their places. The ones they'd had at the beginning of the year, that is. Not the places they'd been sitting in the last few months.

Back to each House being a self-contained unit, more or less. Despite the fact that the political situation within Slytherin was if anything even more uncertain and turbulent than before, all the members of his house were sitting in a block: the ones who'd grown closer to the Gryffindors sitting with Draco out of loyalty to him, and the ones who'd drawn away from him sitting where they'd been the whole year.

It was a good thing they were early. Harry normally sat at the back of the class. This way Draco didn't have to see him come in, or look at him during class and try to not think about him.

"D'you have extra ink?" he asked Blaise, annoyed at himself that he'd been too busy searching for his tie this morning to remember to check his inkwell. He tensed slightly as he heard people enter the room and a small murmur went around the class. No doubt Harry and his friends had just walked in. Draco busied himself looking for his extra quill. The Healer had said to avoid one another as much as possible, and he was bloody well going to, no matter how much four months of habit told him to at least turn around and say hello.

"Open your books to page 432," Snape said as he entered the classroom, and a rustle of pages followed, muting the curious murmurs. At least that was one good thing about Potions; there wasn't really much time for anybody to see either of them doing much more than just trying to keep up with Snape's lectures or their practical assignments.

Especially when the practical part of the class involved an assignment as nigh-impossible as this one, Draco thought a while later as they moved to their cauldrons. He set up his distiller, pitying the poor sods who had to distil venom by hand, and glanced at the Sunday copy of the Prophet that Pansy had brought to class while he waited for the distiller to do its job.

_Boy Who Lived Single Again_

_Yes, it's true. The Prophet has confirmed the rumours that the unwilling marriage of Harry Potter to his nemesis Draco Malfoy is finally over, after four stormy months. Through methods unknown, Lucius Malfoy, convicted Death Eater and father-in-law of Harry Potter, was able to track down the man responsible for casting the marriage curse on his son and Mr. Potter. Sources close to the Malfoy family claim the caster was a Death Eater as well, and has been turned over to the Ministry of Magic._

_News of the high-profile divorce was the top story on the WWN on Saturday, as school friends told their parents and the students at Hogwarts celebrated. Sources close to the pair say that the unbonding was carried out with a minimum of fuss, and that both boys are relieved to be free of their bond._

_"I'm so happy for him. He was far too young for this, really," said Mrs. Elora Dingham, of Dundee, parent of close Potter friend Clarence Dingham._

"Depending on whether you are able to follow the steps competently or not, your potion will exude one of two distinct odours," Snape said. "If your potion smells like seawater and smoke you will test its potency by administering it to your testing animal. If your potion smells like rotting pig manure, you will test its potency and effect by administering it to yourself."

Draco quickly glanced at his potion, cheerfully burbling away in the exact manner it was supposed to. Spared Pansy's potion a glance; same. Smart girl. He went back to his paper.

_"Nobody should have to be tied down to a git like Malfoy," said one Hogwarts student on condition of anonymity._

_"I tend to sympathise more with Draco," said another student. "Potter's a bit of a twit, really."_

_"I really thought they had something there," another Hogwarts parent, Mr. Elisha Bois, told reporters. "Didn't the Malfoy lad say they were happy together? Couldn't have been that happy, if they went and split the moment they could."_

_"Can't really blame Harry, though," said his wife Ellen. "Who'd want to stay connected to that family?"_

_And what of his ex? Draco Malfoy, who was gracious enough to finally permit an interview in December, could not be reached for comment._

Draco scowled in annoyance. He could not be reached because the Prophet didn't bloody well bother to try, though he doubted he would've given them any statement other than "piss off."

_Solicitor David Glynstook gave the following statement to the press on behalf of his client Lucius Malfoy: "My son has acquitted himself well with the stress of this forced bonding, but it's understandable that he would be pleased to end the curse. He had hoped to find a suitable match, raise a family of his own. Of course we have nothing but respect for Mr. Potter and hope their friendship will continue, but I don't think it's difficult to understand that Draco would want to end the curse when given the opportunity to do so."_

_Lucius_ _Malfoy could not be reached for further comment on his son's unbonding._

Draco sighed, trying not to worry about Father. "Could not be reached" - did that mean the same thing it did for Draco? Or did it mean that they genuinely had not been able to find him in time for yesterday's edition? And if so... where had he gone? Had he come back yet?

And if he hadn't... how long would they have to wait before being able to tell that something was wrong?

And what the hell was this about "hoping their friendship will continue"? Draco had been under the distinct impression that Father would really rather eat his own liver than maintain any kind of connection to Harry any longer than absolutely necessary.

Draco glanced over quickly at Harry, who was watching his own potion dripping into a vial. Not more than a glance, seeing as how people were probably watching them for any hint of... well, anything, really, to run to the Prophet with. A glance only long enough to register that yes, Harry had indeed come to class. That he looked tired and subdued. Much like Draco felt, actually. The difference being that there was no way Draco was going to allow himself to look how he felt, or let anybody think for one moment that there was anything wrong with him.

And it was probably not a good idea to think about how dejected he'd felt this morning, his third one waking up to an empty bed paired with the remnants of a rather lurid dream about Harry. This whole divorce business was harder than he'd thought it would be - literally.

Stupid bond, still tugging at him. It would get better, he reassured himself; he just had to be strong.

Though he probably hadn't helped himself any by taking care of this morning's arousal with Harry's image in his mind, thinking of the first time they'd gone down on each other. He might have to come up with more suitable wanking fantasies, if he was going to get over the bond quickly and efficiently.

It was a brilliant memory, though. One of the nicer things that had happened over the Christmas break. He'd probably never forget Harry's face the first time Draco took him into his mouth, on the assumption that at least as Draco had had it done to him, he might be better able to figure out what to do. Harry's shock and excitement at the entirely new sensations had almost overwhelmed Draco, the thrill Harry was feeling more than making up for Draco's discomfort and hesitancy over doing something he'd never done before. Skill didn't count for much, Draco figured, when receiving one's first blow job. Pansy's lack of experience certainly hadn't disturbed him in the least a couple of years ago. And, as it turned out, neither did Harry's, when it was his turn to reciprocate.

Harry had turned out to be quite talented in that particular field. After a while, the mere possibility of an imminent blow job had been enough to make Draco dizzy, and the experience itself turned him into a quivering mess.

Harry looked up from his potion, and Draco flushed as their eyes met. They exchanged a small uneasy smile before both ducked back to their potions.

No contact. Break it off cleanly. It's for the best.

Breaking it off wasn't as easy as that, though, especially when it came to sex. Draco stared at his potion, wondering how on earth he'd managed to forget that the normal state of affairs for most boys his age was terminal frustrated hard-on, with no help in sight except for your own right hand. And the left one, once the right got too tired.

He gazed at Pansy speculatively. Pansy had never been all that difficult to get into bed... and she'd certainly been friendly lately... had distracted him admirably from his worry over his father. Maybe she'd be willing to distract him from other unbonding-related problems...

Maybe not. Their friendship this year had grown closer than that of simple childhood friends and sometime lovers. It didn't seem quite...  _right_  any more, to sleep with her and not worry about possible ramifications. Especially as he no longer had an abundance of allies or friends in Slytherin; jeopardizing one of the only steady sources of support he had was probably not wise. He turned back to his potion.

"Draco," Pansy said into his ear, startling him a little despite the fact that he'd been thinking about her. Or maybe because of it. "You're brooding again. Let's go outside after class. The fresh air will do you some good. Stop you from worrying about your father."

Draco swallowed hard. Right. Father.

"Yeah, thanks, I'll try that next class," Blaise was saying to Weasley on their way back into the classroom from the storage room. "And your potion - just make sure you soften the catgut first, that was your problem last time."

"Yeah, thanks, Zabini," Weasley said, heading back to his cauldron.

"Still associating with the blood traitors, Blaise?" Queenie said archly. "I thought it was all due to your Malfoy-toadying. Is there an actual friendship here? With a  _Weasley_?" Weasley's blue eyes narrowed and the room hushed for a moment. Blaise gave Queenie a supremely disinterested glance and went back to his potion.

"You should know better," Queenie said, more quietly. "You know what they're already saying. The ship has turned. Best follow it."

"Fine, you fail Charms, then," Blaise said pleasantly. "I'll be getting help from the only member of our year who managed to make that windchime sound like a flute last class."

"It's all Granger, you know," Queenie said derisively. "You're getting school advice from a Mudblood, through a blood traitor."

"Your point?"

"Won't your family be thrilled."

"I'm sure they will, if I get all my NEWTs. I don't suppose your family would know what to do with you if you got any."

Draco glanced quickly at Harry. Harry's eyes were level as they held his gaze.

Never mind. Blaise didn't have to worry about breaking it off cleanly, not like he did.

He turned back to his potion.

**ooooooo**

**Day 121, Wednesday**

_Torrid Love Triangle Knocks Harpies, Magpies Out Of World Cup!_  screamed the front page of The Prophet. And right below it, in smaller print,  _Convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy Mysteriously Missing, Sources Say._

Harry automatically glanced at the Slytherin table, where Draco was opening up his own paper. Watched a worried frown form on his face before it was suppressed and replaced with cool nonchalance. Quickly looked away as Draco's eyes met his.

I must remember to sit with my back to the Slytherin table, Harry reminded himself.

He rubbed his forehead, willing away a slight headache, and focussed on the paper before him. Nothing terribly interesting. The Harpies and Magpies hadn't been playing well anyway this year, and Lucius' mysterious absence seemed to consist of him not being available to answer the Prophet's requests for an interview, while his wife and family solicitors claimed that he was simply away on family business. Other than that, it seemed that the only other item of interest right now was still his divorce.

Harry reflected wearily that, while once this would've caused him great annoyance, right now he honestly felt glad of it. Because if the paper was still obsessing over his private life, at least that meant there wasn't anything more newsworthy to talk about. They could write about the divorce for the next few months as far as he was concerned. More power to them.

Ollivander was still missing, as was Florian Fortescue, and it sometimes seemed the wizarding world was holding its collective breath. But as long as nobody else disappeared, they could keep on holding it, as far as Harry was concerned.

Harry frowned thoughtfully at a story buried on the fourth page, between adverts for Sleekeasy's Hair Potions and Kwikspell books:

_The Prophet has learned that Parnassus McKay, the individual responsible for the curse that trapped the Boy Who Lived in an unwanted marriage, was a Death Eater of little importance, bent on advancing himself in the ranks of You-Know-Who._

_"He wanted to gain favour by simultaneously killing Harry Potter and hurting Lucius Malfoy, convicted Death Eater and one of You-Know-Who's greatest supporters," a Ministry insider explained to the Prophet on condition of anonymity, explaining that Potter and his spouse were supposed to either kill each other or die as a side effect of an unspecified additional curse within the bond. McKay also hoped that whether Potter and his spouse died or not, Lucius Malfoy would lose his exalted position in the ranks of the Death Eaters. There seems no honour among thieves._

Oh, Lucius Malfoy would love that line, Harry smirked to himself.

Draco probably wouldn't, though. Harry's smirk faded.

_The Ministry insider explained that some parts of the plot may never be uncovered; before handing over McKay, Lucius Malfoy negotiated a deal with the Ministry that prohibited Veritaserum interrogations of anybody involved._

_"It all seems to have rather backfired on McKay," says our source. "Potter and Draco Malfoy didn't die, the plot was uncovered, and it wouldn't surprise me if Lucius Malfoy's come back in favour with You-Know-Who. Too bad for him; nice little plan, when you think of it."_

_It is unclear how McKay was able to set up the curse within Hogwarts. The Ministry believes that somebody may have helped him, although they admit that he may have entered the school on his own during the flurry of activity that invariably accompanies the beginning of Hogwarts' fall term. To prevent a repetition of this kind of occurrence, the wards have been strengthened around the school._

_Is this a sign of the return of He Who Must Not Be Named? If his supporters can get into Hogwarts and put our students in danger... who now is safe?_

Harry rolled his eyes. Voldemort's supporters had been getting into Hogwarts in one way or another since his first year; they probably owned master keys to the place. And yet every single time they did, the Prophet wrote about it in breathless tones of disbelief and panic at shocking new evidence of everyone's vulnerability. As Ginny had once scornfully noted, "It's like every time is the First! Time! Ever!"

_Also not clear is the fate of McKay. No plans appear to be in place to charge him for the events at Hogwarts, though there are a number of charges pending against him for crimes committed in support of He Who Must Not Be Named. The Prophet has also learned that a suicide watch has been set on McKay, as is standard procedure with Death Eaters; many of You-Know-Who's supporters have come to bloody self-inflicted ends while in custody._

He frowned and skipped over the rest of the article. Skimmed over the rest of the page and immediately wished he hadn't, as  _New Romance For Boy Who Lived?_  caught his eye.

"Good lord, Potter, don't read that rubbish," Blaise Zabini said over his shoulder, and for a moment Harry had a highly disorienting feeling that he was back at the Slytherin table. "Got the Charms notes, Weasley?" he said, dropping down onto the bench next to Harry.

Ron nodded, swallowing his toast and bending down to his schoolbag. "Yeah, and I think - Hermione, did you figure out that non-verbal part of it?"

"It's in the margin," Hermione said, pointing it out.

"Oh, so it is. Thanks, Granger," Zabini said, sounding pleased. "Weasley, I'm not quite done with your Potions essay - though I will say if you don't manage to learn the difference between asphodel and asafoetida... well, let's just say your roommates will not thank you for it." He stood up.

"You off to the library?" Ron asked, and Zabini nodded. Ron stood, putting his things in his schoolbag. "Wait up, then, we're going there too. What's the difference?"

"Asphodel and asafoetida?" Zabini laughed as they set off. "The one looks and smells like a lily, and helps in digestive potions. The other comes from giant fennel roots and smells like indigestion. Honestly, what's the use of living with Longbottom if you can't even get decent Herbology help from him?"

Harry gazed after them thoughtfully as they left. What Ron and Zabini had wasn't so much a close friendship as a mutually beneficial academic exchange, but it was nice to see that not every good thing that had come out of the last four months was completely gone. And it wasn't insignificant, either. Harry clearly remembered Zabini being extremely standoffish to non-Slytherins for most of his time at Hogwarts. He'd been particularly disdainful of Muggle-borns and "blood traitors" like the Weasleys. Seeing that attitude mostly gone... it wasn't much, but it was something.

He spared one last glance at the latest article about him, shaking its head at its gushing prose, thankful that at least it was buried in the middle pages.

_From bachelor to married man and back again, before age eighteen. It's certainly been an eventful year for Harry Potter, and judging from the amount of mail about him coming in to the Prophet, there is no shortage of young witches - and some young wizards - who would like to meet the young man, who has already proven to be excellent marrying material._

_"If he could make marriage work with a person like that terrible Death Eater's son, imagine how happy he could be with a nice girl from a good family," said Yolanda Lovelace, noted advice columnist and marriage expert-_

Harry sighed, irately pushing his hair out of his eyes. Checked his schoolbag and realized he was missing his Charms notes. Bloody hell, he needed to get his head screwed back on right; he was spending half his time brooding and the other half distractedly looking for his things. Somehow he didn't remember being quite this disorganized before spending four months living with Draco Malfoy, terrible Death Eater's son and part-time house elf.

Probably because back then he hadn't been spending a disconcerting amount of his time missing the pointy-faced git. He forced himself to not look towards the Slytherin table as he got up and headed for the library, trying not to be bothered by the fact that once again, Ron and Hermione had left without waiting for him. It wasn't their fault. They didn't do it deliberately. But he wasn't the only one who'd formed habits in the last four months; his friends and house mates had gotten used to not having him around half the time, too. Now that he didn't have a constant sidekick, keeping him company for good or bad, he was really realizing how isolated he'd become in Gryffindor.

It would get better. It would. It had only been a few days, after all. They all just needed time.

**ooooooo**

**Day 123, Friday**

Pansy pursed her lips as she regarded Draco over their Ancient Runes review chart.

He looked fine. Focussed on his review, looking up some answers he hadn't been able to figure out, a small frown of concentration as he silently mouthed the words to himself, committing them to memory. Perfectly fine.

Marvellous acting, really. Anybody who hadn't known him for years would honestly think there was nothing wrong.

Pansy sighed and looked away from her Runes, and her gaze fell on yet another bloody Prophet article.

_Speculation runs rampant that Lucius Malfoy, convicted Death Eater and father of Draco Malfoy, former spouse of Harry Potter, may have gone back to He Who Must Not Be Named, now that his son will no longer be vulnerable if Potter is attacked. He has been unreachable since shortly after his son was released from his bond with Mr. Potter. Could it be that Malfoy has changed his colours again?_

Oh, no, really? Pansy thought.

_If Malfoy has returned to He Who Must Not Be Named, is there any chance of being accepted back into the fold? Or will he be punished instead?_

Pansy looked at Draco over the edge of the paper. Anybody who knew him better would have thought, if they noticed Draco's slightly subdued manner at all, that he was merely worried about his father and his family's position with respect to the Dark Lord. Because they all, Death Eaters and their foes alike, knew one thing about the Dark Lord: he wasn't a big fan of forgiving and forgetting.

Anybody who had gotten to know Draco as well as Pansy had this year would've known that that wasn't the whole story. He was worried, Pansy could see that. But he was also...

Well, he didn't startle at the mention of the Dark Lord, or his father. He did when Potter was called on in class. He didn't blush and look away when somebody mentioned the Dark Lord. He did when Potter was talking.

His tongue was sharper than ever as he tore into Queenie and Nott and occasionally Millicent, as he made fun of various random Hufflepuffs, or Loony Lovegood. He never mentioned Potter.

Pansy put her paper down and idly ran her fingers through Draco's hair, prompting him to make a small noise of annoyance and lean his head away from her for a moment, not looking up from his reviewing. She'd felt a small pang of sorrow when he'd asked her to cut it yesterday, but she had to admit this length was probably more practical, and looked good on him too. Although the ice-white shoulder-length had been lovely. Such a shame, such gorgeous hair wasted on a boy.

Draco frowned absently at his notes, crossed out an answer and gave a sigh, staring off into space. Pansy regarded him thoughtfully.

He didn't even know he was doing it. Brooding, lapsing into silence when he wasn't actively being prodded by the outside world. Worry for his father and disorientation from the broken bond tugging him into this reflective, distracted mode.

And he needed to snap out of it. It did him no good to be like this, balanced precariously on nothing, waiting for his family's chips to fall and moping over the end of his bond like a Kneazle over lost kits. Unfortunately, Pansy couldn't seem to do much to help him. Studying, playing chess, gossiping about their fellow students... none of it seemed to distract Draco all that much.

He could probably use a good healthy shag, she mused. Because among other things, going from a rather... vigorous physical relationship to nothing at all probably wasn't helping matters any.

Come to think of it, she could probably use a good healthy shag herself. Anthony Goldstein had been fun for a while, but she'd grown tired of him and broken it off with him about three months ago. In hindsight, it hadn't been a terribly wise decision; while it was nice to be rid of Anthony's hair-twirling and pen-tapping and tie-fiddling, she'd also wanted to hex Draco and Pottter every single time they disappeared and then came back looking cheerfully well-shagged. In other words, several times a day.

She smiled brightly and sat up, tapping Draco's shoulder. "Darling, we've been at this for hours. I need a break."

"Yeah, all right, I'll finish up the third chapter-"

"I think you need a break too."

"Right." He nodded agreeably enough, put aside his book and rubbed his eyes, stretching, still frowning absently at his work.

"Stop thinking."

"Right, yeah."

"And stop worrying."

He glanced up at her curiously. "What?"

"About your father, love. He's a smart man. He'll be all right."

"Right."

Pansy searched the room for inspiration and found it in Queenie and Nott, whose on-again, off-again relationship was apparently going through a high point, judging from the overabundance of writhing eel-like limbs on one of the common room's love seats.

Pansy made a face. "You know, that's one thing I really appreciated about you and Potter. You kept the nausea factor down to a minimum."

Draco followed her gaze and smiled slightly.

"D'you miss it?"

"What?"

"Shagging regularly. I was so bloody jealous the whole time you were with him - well, after you finally got him to act like a normal human male, that is. There I was, reduced to bloody French  _plaisir_  spells, while he gave it to you three times a day. Dreadfully unfair."

Draco gave her an amused smirk.

"Can't be easy, going from feast to famine like that," she said thoughtfully, and Draco shrugged, his eyes wandering back to his work.

Pansy inwardly rolled her eyes at him. She toyed with the thought of simply snapping, "Kindly pay attention to me while I'm trying to seduce you," but decided that, in terms of jarring him out of this mood, it would probably be much better for him to think he was the one actively pursuing sexual conquests, as any healthy single male should do.

"Can't see what Nott sees in Queenie, honestly," Pansy said disparagingly. "For one thing, I hear she flat-out refuses to go south."

"Really?"

"Really. Very strange. Well her mother's one of these fanatical ban-doire Irish witches, you know, all-women covens and all that?"

"Yeah, I heard."

"I've no problem at all with the theory, but seriously, if those covens require you to swear off some of the more enjoyable pastimes around, count me out."

"Quite."

"Mind you, she doesn't seem to be all that inhibited right now, does she?" Pansy trailed off thoughtfully, noting that Draco was no longer looking at his review, but was instead gazing at Nott and Queenie.

"Ugh, I can't watch this," Pansy said. "They're actually rather putting me off the whole notion of sex." She turned back to her Runes, noting with amusement that Draco was a little flushed. "Now, why can't Blaise go out with anybody from Slytherin? Him I'd happily watch." She scratched out a rune. "Did I ever tell you I caught him and that silly Gryffindor bint, Lavender Brown, just about in flagrante delicto once." She sighed happily. "Broke my heart to take points off of them - I wanted to pay them for the show.  _Very_  pretty pair."

Draco forcibly looked away from Queenie and Nott but tapped his quill on the desk, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair irately. Pansy smirked inwardly.

"Though Blaise broke it off soon after that - he said he got tired of how stupid she was, but I think it was because he was disappointed that she wouldn't ask her friend Parvati Patil to join them. You know there were those rumours about those two for the longest time, them being so  _close_  and all that-"

"Pansy."

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you very much mind? Some of us aren't as used to deprivation as you are."

Pansy looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry that was rather insensitive of me wasn't it?"

"Rather," Draco said tersely.

"Sorry, love." She briefly caressed his hand in apology, then turned back to her Runes. Waited patiently for a few seconds and...

Draco's hand was on hers, and he was leaning a little closer than usual. "You wouldn't consider making it up to me, would you?" he said casually, and Pansy furrowed her brow slightly.

"What?" She blinked at him, then raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Oh!" She tilted her head to the side, as if thinking it over. "Oh, really? Is that a proposition?"

Draco grinned at her. "Depends. Are you up for propositioning? Or would you rather keep discussing the sex life of everybody else in the school who has one?"

Pansy grinned back at him and congratulated herself.

**ooooooo**

**Day 125, Sunday**

Hermione looked up from Ron's latest Charms assignment and smiled as Harry entered the Gryffindor common room.

"So... how was your date?" she asked.

"My what?" he said, sitting down next to Ginny.

"You and Hannah Abbott, in the library," said Ron, lying comfortably on the couch with his head on Hermione's lap, staring at the fire while Hermione checked his assignment. "How'd it go?"

Harry blinked at him. "You mean, helping her with the last Herbology assignment?"

"Whatever," Ginny said impatiently. "How did it go?"

"I was helping her on an assignment," he repeated slowly, frowning at them slightly.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Harry, you didn't honestly think-" Hermione cut herself off as Harry's puzzled frown deepened. "You're joking. Did you really think that was just about homework?"

"Wasn't it?" Harry seemed to register the amused looks around the three of them. Hermione almost felt like rolling her eyes.

"She's had a crush on you since late last year. Did you not know that?"

"Well... yeah, you told me."

"And it didn't occur to you to think she might've had an ulterior motive for asking for your help with Herbology?"

Harry shook his head sheepishly.

"So how did it go?"

"All right, I guess," Harry mumbled, and Hermione did roll her eyes.

"You talked about nothing except the assignment, didn't you?"

"Well I didn't know there was anything else to talk about," Harry said defensively.

"She's very pretty, you know. And you were kind of interested in her last year too," Ginny reminded him. "You were just going to see if anything happened after the summer was over, remember? And then the bond happened and that flew out the window."

"Well, yeah."

"Harry, you're not married any more," Hermione reminded him encouragingly, puzzled at his slight flinch at her words. She frowned, losing track of the conversation as she quickly reviewed other subtle signs she'd seen in the last few days, and came to a rather unhappy conclusion.

Oh, Harry.

Poor Hannah. Making a play for a boy who was apparently still a bit attached to his ex.

It shouldn't be a surprise, Hermione mused. They'd been relatively comfortable with each other near the end; if it hadn't been Malfoy he'd been bonded to, Hermione would've even said Harry was happy with him. But they'd both seemed perfectly willing to end it, and Hermione had expected only a couple of days of slight disorientation before Harry was right back to normal again, relieved to be free and ready to go on with his life.

It had only been a little over a week, she reminded herself. Not that long. Though Malfoy was apparently quite happily over Harry - rumour had it he and Parkinson were an item again - Harry, being somewhat less shallow than Malfoy, just needed a bit more time. And a bit more help, seeing as how Harry was more than a bit clueless when it came to his personal life.

"How was she?" Ron was asking.

"All right. Quiet."

"Yeah, she's a bit shy." Ron nodded.

"Did you do anything to offend her?" Hermione asked.

"Er... no, I don't think so."

"Well, then, ask her out again," she said encouragingly.

"What? How?" Harry said rather stupidly, and Hermione and Ginny exchanged an amused glance.

"Harry, come on," Ginny said. "You can't possibly be nervous about asking somebody out."

"I've never really - I mean, I haven't-"

"You were married for four months!" Ron said incredulously. "How can you still be shy about this kind of thing?"

"I didn't have to ask him out though, did I?" Harry muttered uncomfortably. "And I didn't have to try to entertain him or, or hope he wouldn't get bored with me."

"Point."

"Besides... what if she wants to, you know..."

"What, go to bed with you? And again, how can you still-"

"No, not go to bed," Harry said impatiently, then frowned slightly and Hermione realized with some amusement that that idea seemed to make him extremely nervous as well. "I mean, you know... talk..."

"What's wrong with that?"

"What would I talk to her about? I can't talk to girls," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"Who are you talking to right now?" Ginny said slowly.

"You two don't count," he muttered.

"Oh, good, so glad you're back to your old self," Ginny said dryly.

"Ask her out again," Ron suggested helpfully.

"Ask who out again?" Dean asked as he, Seamus, Neville, and Colin Creevey joined them by the fire, just in from the cold and still red-cheeked.

"Hannah Abbott."

"Oh yeah, how was your date, Harry?" Colin asked.

"Did everybody but me know this was supposed to be a date?" Harry asked irately.

"Yeah," came back as a chorus.

"He thought it was just about Herbology," Ginny explained. "We've just disabused him of the notion."

"He's going to ask her out again," said Ron.

"No I'm not-"

"Yeah, good idea, Harry," said Seamus. "And if you did end up with her, that would be a little easier to live with than... I mean, you know..."

Chuckles went around the group. "Oh, yeah, Harry," Dean said enthusiastically, "you could bring Hannah back here and Seamus wouldn't get the vapours."

"Even if you did something shocking like sit next to her-" said Colin.

"Or hold her hand-" said Neville.

"Or even," Dean dropped his voice dramatically, " _snog_  her."

"Shut up, you wankers!" Seamus muttered.

"Although you might have to draw the line at lying on a couch with your head in her lap," Ron said. "Because that's just... well, that's just in _de_ cent-" he laughed as Seamus went upstairs, flipping the bird at the lot of them as he left.

"Look, I don't think you'll - I don't think he'll have anything to worry about. I don't think I'll ask her out," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Why not?"

"I don't have time for - I just want to focus on the NEWTs and getting back into Quidditch again. And on what's going on outside of school. I don't want to get distracted."

There was an uncomfortable hush as everybody tried very hard to not think of the latest news from the Prophet. Another disappearance. Disturbing rumours of Death Eater activity in the Highlands, disturbingly close to Hogwarts. Hermione glanced at a paper lying on the nearest common room table,  _"Convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy Returns From Mysterious Absence"_  blazed across the front of it.

"Well." Ginny cleared her throat. "That was a very nice way to bring down the room, Harry," she said, and the others laughed uneasily. "If you wanted us to stop talking about your love life, you might've just said so."

"Sorry."

Ginny pulled the Prophet closer. "I wonder if he's thought of legally changing his name to 'Convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy'," she mused.

"What d'you think Malfoy's father's going to do?" Neville said quietly.

"I don't know," Harry said heavily. "And I don't think I want to."

"What'll you do?" asked Neville hesitantly. "If war comes, and you have to... go against Malfoy. Fight him."

"I don't know," Harry said, his voice low.

Hermione gazed at him thoughtfully. Though Harry had hardly ever talked about it, he'd probably wondered just that a thousand times in the last few months. They all had. But it had been different then, because he and Malfoy had been bonded and there was no way Malfoy could've fought Harry without committing suicide, and Malfoy really wasn't the type to selflessly sacrifice himself for any cause.

Now, though...

"I don't know if I could either." Neville shook his head.

They all looked at him in surprise. "Really?" said Hermione.

"He's not his father," Neville said quietly.

"No, he's not."

"He's our classmate. He's not the enemy. None of them are, really."

"Not right now, they're not," said Ron. "But what if one of them attacked you?"

"If I had to defend myself, I would. But attacking them first..." Neville shook his head.

"Well, let's hope we never have to find out," Ron said, closing his eyes and effectively signalling the end of the discussion.

Hermione stroked Ron's hair, thinking as she stared into the flames in the fireplace, losing track of the conversation as the rest of them moved on to cheerier subjects.

Esposito had been right. Harry and Malfoy could've done a lot of people a lot of good, had they stayed together. In fact, they had done some good, even in four short months. Though it had been hard at first, quite a few people from both houses had made the effort to get along and had succeeded, to varying degrees. Zabini and Ron, Dean and Tracey Davis - even Hermione herself had been able to put aside animosity and get along with Pansy Parkinson, not just for truly important things like saving their friends' lives, but even for simpler things like organizing a surprise to make it possible for Harry and Malfoy to participate in the Yule Ball.

"Some of us can be human," Esposito and Parkinson had both said, and Hermione had finally seen it. And she was almost sure some of the Slytherins had seen it too.

How much farther could they all have gone, if Lucius Malfoy hadn't found Parnassus McKay?

**ooooooo**

**Day 129, Thursday**

Harry sighed, trudging back to the Quidditch hut to retrieve the books he'd forgotten there after early morning practice. He rubbed his head, trying to will away a headache that had been worsening in the last few days.

Damn it, he had to snap out of this. This was getting ridiculous. He wasn't concentrating terribly well, and he needed to, if for no other reason than the coming NEWTs. Odd, that he hadn't realized how much Draco's study habits had rubbed off on him, since a lot of the time when they were together, Draco was studying and unless Harry wanted to sit and watch his hair grow or re-read Quidditch Through The Ages for the fiftieth time, the only thing for him to do was study too. But it was not easy to keep up that kind of discipline without a live-in academic conscience. Hermione's nagging just didn't quite measure up any more.

It was too easy to get distracted from the tedium of studying. If it wasn't the nearest game of Exploding Snap, it was Quidditch, and if it wasn't either of those, it was the news.

He should probably go back to doing what he'd done right after the bond: just stay as far away from he Prophet as possible. Because it was too easy to get pulled into useless speculation as to which parts of the news had to do with Voldemort and which didn't. Or spend hours wondering what the hell Lucius Malfoy was up to now. Just today there had been a quote from him about not trusting Muggles - it matched other conservative rhetoric he'd been spouting since coming back from his mysterious absence, and Harry had no idea what that meant.

And he was still waiting for whatever "ugliness" Draco had half-warned him about the day they'd dissolved the bond.

Which led to the other thing distracting him lately. It was definitely not easy to keep up with studies as he got more and more annoyed at how slowly he seemed to be getting over the bond. The Healer had warned of "some disorientation for the first few days", but it had been almost two weeks and the only thing he could be really sure of was that he was getting bloody tired of missing Draco. The feeling that he was walking around with part of himself absent had subsided somewhat and he no longer felt off-balance by the lack of a constant companion, but the feeling of wanting to talk to him in class, wanting to fly with him, or simply to hear his voice, wasn't going away at all as far as Harry could tell.

And the whole lack of sex thing... was not exactly making it easy to get on with his life. Half-aroused was becoming an almost permanent condition these days. What with that, and the absent-mindedness and moodiness, it was no wonder he had a headache.

Perhaps he should ask Hannah out after all, even though the idea didn't exactly fill him with enthusiasm. Which was odd; Hannah was quite pretty and he had been interested in her, once. But now he felt utterly uninterested, as well as... well, it was ridiculous, but he almost felt like he was cheating, or something, even thinking of asking her out.

Even more ridiculous, the thought of doing anything romantic with Hannah almost frightened him. He'd had sex more times and in more ways than he'd even known to be possible four months ago, and yet here he was, acutely alarmed at the thought of snogging Hannah Abbott.

And the absolute height of ridiculousness was that part of him was even frightened of  _not_  snogging or sleeping with Hannah Abbott. What if she didn't want sex? What if she wanted to talk instead? Talking to Hermione and Ginny was one thing, but he'd made an utter hash of communicating with the only girl he'd ever tried to talk to in a romantic setting, and wasn't eager to try again.

That had been one nice thing about being with Draco. Draco never particularly wanted to talk, and he always wanted sex. And when they did talk, Harry never had to worry about what to say. Except for the brief period when they were trying to work out how to be together in a non-hostile manner, their communication had been relatively stress-free. For the first little while, they'd had a well-established pattern of hatred and mutual insults, and after their suspension, they'd grown comfortable with each other. Besides, he never had to spend half of a conversation trying to guess what Draco was thinking or feeling; he either knew, because of the bond, or he didn't know, but didn't much care.

Unbelievable. Here he was, thinking with fond nostalgia of his mistake of a marriage to Draco Malfoy, while terrified of the idea of dating a Hufflepuff girl. He could almost hear Draco's sneering voice making remarks that involved the words 'pathetic' and 'unfathomable' and 'twit'. And he could hear himself agreeing wholeheartedly.

No, he really should make the effort with Hannah. After all, apparently Draco had had a bit of a fling with Pansy not long after their bond was broken, and if Draco could move on, so could he.

He turned the corner of the hut, nearly colliding with somebody coming the other way.

"Oh - sorry!" he blurted, fumbling to keep his books from falling as a familiar voice snapped "Watch where you're-"

He and Draco froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

"Oh. Erm. Sorry, I, I wasn't paying attention-" Harry broke eye contact first, reaching down for the books Draco had dropped.

"No, that's all right - my fault, I wasn't, erm..." Draco trailed off.

"Here." Harry stood up, handing Draco his books.

"Thanks."

They both stared at the ground for a moment.

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm... it's nice seeing you-" he winced at how stupid that sounded as it left his mouth. They saw each other all the time. "Outside of class, that is."

Brief smile, quickly stifled, from Draco. "Yeah." He cleared his throat too. "How... how've you been?"

"All right, just fine," Harry said quickly. "Erm... you?"

"Yeah, good."

"I heard... I mean, I read, your father's back."

"Yeah."

"That's... good, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, it's... it's good."

Fuck, this was so incredibly awkward. Harry cleared his throat. "I guess we better, erm..."

"Yeah." Draco nodded, and Harry started to move off, then looked up as Draco cleared his throat.

"How... how are you really?" Draco asked quickly.

Harry shrugged uneasily, but gave him a small smile. "Erm... all right. It's... it's still weird though, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Are things... all right, in Slytherin?"

"Erm... more or less," Draco said evasively.

"Really?"

Draco shrugged. "Nott's still being a bastard, but..."

"But you'd know something was wrong if he wasn't."

Draco chuckled. "Yeah."

"Did... don't tell me, obviously, if you can't, but I, I just wondered... did you ever find out anything about McKay..." he trailed off, uncomfortably aware that Draco might not be able to tell him anything even if he knew.

Draco shook his head. "He was a Death Eater. That's as much as I know. I don't know how Father found him... or how he managed to turn him over, or if he had anything to do with anybody here."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah."

And there was nothing more to say, really, Harry realized. Despite the fact that neither one of them seemed in a hurry to get away from the other, they had nothing else to talk about.

And that was a good thing. He gave himself a small shake and nodded. "Well. I better go get my..."

"Yeah, me too."

They stepped past each other, then Harry thought of something and half-turned. "Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw you're back on the team. They're doing better already."

Draco smirked. "We'll fly you into the ground in the last game."

Harry smirked back. "They're not doing that well."

Draco shrugged. "Your team may have the better players, but your Keeper's abysmal. And your Seeker can't compare to ours."

"I'm better at matches, remember? And I've learned a bit about your style of Seeking, too."

"Won't do you any good," Draco said easily. "Best of luck against Hufflepuff, though."

"Thanks."

And they walked past each other.

Harry entered the hut and leaned his back against the door. God, this was ridiculous. He was... his headache was forgotten and he was a little flushed and actually a bit shaky, with an oddly warm feeling in his chest like something wonderful had happened instead of just having a stilted, horribly awkward conversation with his... ex.

Carry on. Carry on, and get a grip. Nothing to see here. He squared his shoulders and went to retrieve his books.


	17. February 8 - February 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep heartfelt thanks to my betas, Kyllikki and Jérémie, and Chibitoaster for her study session illustration ;)

**  
** **Day 133, Monday** ****  


"What? No, he's not," Pansy was laughing as Draco sat down next to her. "Draco, tell them. You haven't offered to tutor Slytherin OWLs students in Potions, have you?"

Draco laughed, pouring himself some pumpkin juice. "No but I should - and for their first tutorial I'll have them brew a sleeping draught that'll keep them awake for the rest of the year and teach them not to trust upper-year students."

"Very funny. You could help some of them, you know," Queenie said sourly amid laughter from the others.

"Why would I want to?"

"It's the decent thing to do?"

"... and?"

"My sister wouldn't mind paying for help," Queenie said.

"That's a splendid idea, Queenie. I can use every Knut I can get, you know how stingy my father is - oh sorry, that's your family I'm thinking of."

"Weren't you going off for tutoring yesterday though?" Crabbe asked.

"That was tutoring  _for_  me, not from me, and it was Charms, not Potions."

"Having a spot of trouble with schoolwork, are we?" Queenie said snidely.

" _We_  are, yes. In my case, it's possibly due to having switched Charms sections in the middle of the school year. I'm sure you have an equally valid reason," he said kindly, and Queenie scowled and looked away.

"Stephen Cornfoot's tutoring you, right?" Blaise asked. "He helped me with Runes last year. Useful lad."

"Bit slow for a Ravenclaw, though," Pansy tittered. "How long did it take him to figure out you only bat your eyes at boys, but never follow through?"

Blaise smirked. "Long enough for three stellar essays and a new set of EagleLight quills from Mother."

Draco hid a smile. Very useful lad, Cornfoot, though the Charms tutoring story was just a cover in Draco's case. Cornfoot had, a few days ago, propositioned Draco out of the blue. Draco had, after a startled moment, taken him up on it. He had never batted his eyes at Cornfoot, but he was not averse to a quick shag, or a couple of quick shags. After all, a willing, attractive body was a willing, attractive body. Cornfoot was certainly useful at keeping single life from consisting of bleak sexual deprivation.

Queenie sniffed in disdain, looking up as the post came in, and taking the Prophet from her family's owl. Draco neatly plucked his regular package of sweets from his mother's owl and handed the bird a treat. He took a sip of pumpkin juice as he undid the lacing on the package, looking up as Queenie exclaimed at something in her paper.

"Oh my g-" Her eyes snapped to Draco, her mouth a wordless O. Draco gave an impatient snort at Queenie's tiresome theatrics, took another sip of juice as he leaned over to look at the front page-

-and choked as he read the headline, Queenie utterly forgotten.

_Boy Who Lived, Abusive Spouse?_

He hastily swallowed the juice and dropped his sweets, pulling the paper closer, his breath catching at the ugly words that swam before his eyes.

_...brief marriage ... appears to have actually been abusive ... spouse was twice treated for serious physical injuries suffered at the hands of Mr. Potter ... school nurse was so concerned with his safety that she contacted a Healer from St. Mungo's..._

Not one word on the fact that said Healer had dismissed Pomfrey's concern out of hand. He was going to kill the reporter. And Pomfrey. And possibly Father as well.

_...condition of anonymity, "Potter punched him in the face, right in the Great Hall. And nobody did anything about it, just sent them off to be alone for four days."_

_Lucius_ _Malfoy expressed shock at rumours of his son's ordeal ... had strongly advocated sending them both to St. Mungo's ..._

Yes, definitely Father as well. Draco's jaw clenched.

_...I was assured that my son wanted to stay at school, but with an abusive spouse and a cadre of adults who only seemed to want to keep everything quiet, I now very much wonder how free he was to speak his mind."_

"What the  _fuck_ -" Draco found himself almost speechless, fury spiking through him in hot bursts. He threw the paper down. "Fucking  _rubbish!_ " He looked up at the Gryffindor table, only vaguely registering the buzz of alarm in the room as Harry looked up from his own paper and met Draco's gaze, his eyes dark in his pale face.

Draco shook his head helplessly, about a hundred things on the tip of his tongue - don't let this touch you, you didn't do anything wrong, this didn't come from me, it's my  _fucking_  father, Mordred rot him - and people were probably gaping at both of them. Again. On display - even after a  _divorce_ , they-

Without letting himself stop to think of what he should do or what his father would want, he stood and jerked his head towards the door in a clear signal to Harry to join him for a little talk outside the bloody fishbowl of the Great Hall. He waited impatiently as Harry hesitated, then murmured something to Granger before standing and heading towards him.

"Draco - is that really-" he heard Crabbe start to say and he snarled back without bothering to look away from Harry.

" _No_ , you imbecile - me,  _abused_  by Harry fucking Potter? Use your brain for half a second!" He stepped away from his table and joined Harry, touching his arm and propelling them both out the door, not trusting himself to say another word until they were alone.

The door shut behind them, and he faced Harry, suddenly unable to think of what to say. "I... I - fuck, Harry, that-" he began, and Harry interrupted him, a tremor beneath his tight voice.

"How did anybody find out about-"

"I don't-"

"Who did you tell?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Did you go to the paper?" Harry asked levelly.

" _What??_ "

"It wouldn't be the first time you've-"

"How-" Draco literally saw red. "How dare you - that was  _years_  ago!"

"How dare  _I_  - I'm the one who's on the cover of the fucking Prophet as an abusive-"

"And I'm there as your fucking punching bag, like I haven't got a spine and - PISS OFF!!" Draco yelled at a wide-eyed young Ravenclaw who'd unwisely opened the door of the Great Hall behind Harry. Harry whirled around, quickly putting his hand on Draco's chest and pushing him back as Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at the frightened girl.

"Get back inside," Harry told her urgently, grabbing Draco's wand hand. "Pull yourself together!" he snapped at Draco.

Draco's fury exploded. "Pull myself together!!" He pushed Harry back so hard Harry smacked against the door. "You just fucking accused me of going to the paper and telling them you beat me! You-"

"I'm SORRY!!" Harry shouted, breaking Draco's rant. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, bloody hell, get a hold of yourself before you hurt somebody!" Draco glared at him, momentarily mollified by the apology. "Look, you're pissed off, I get it, all right? I was out of line. Hexing a thirteen-year old girl isn't going to help anything."

Draco frowned, his fury slowly subsiding but his pulse still racing. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, unconsciously putting a calming hand on Draco's arm as he frowned, deep in thought.

"Do you know how this happened?" Harry finally asked, settling his glasses again. "D'you think maybe Pansy-"

"Not Pansy. My  _father_ ," Draco spat bitterly.

"You think your father went to the Prophet?"

"I know he did."

"How did he find out-"

"He got at our medical records." Harry blanched. "I don't know how, or how much he saw, but he definitely got the record of what happened during the suspension."

Harry suddenly frowned. "Is this what you tried to warn me about-"

" _Yes_ , fuck," Draco said, and was not at all pleased at Harry's angry, hurt look.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I did!"

"You said - what was that, a cryptogram? Why the hell didn't you-"

"I warned you that my father could make things ugly for you!! Damn it, I didn't have to do that!! What did you want? 'Here, I know we're about to get a divorce and we've never been on the same side politically and my father expects me to show a bare minimum of family loyalty but let me just spill all his plans to you just for shits and giggles'??"

The door opened again, and McGonagall stood in the doorway.

" _What?_ " Harry said rudely. McGonagall fixed him with a stern look and Draco suddenly mentally replayed the events of the last few minutes from the point of view of people in the Great Hall. Prophet comes out with shocking headline accusing Harry Potter of abusing his spouse, said spouse blows a fit, both leave the Great Hall, supposed abuse victim nearly hexes a child trying to get out of the Great Hall-

"We can't stay here. Let's go," Draco said curtly, and McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him too. He cleared his throat, made himself speak respectfully. "Professor, we need to go talk about this, we'll be back in a bit."

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," she said calmly. "But I would suggest that you stay where the staff can keep an eye on you." Harry's mouth dropped open in disbelieving dismay. McGonagall raised her hand placatingly. "That is, if anything, for your protection, Potter. So that nobody will be able to accuse you of behaving improperly towards Mr. Malfoy again. It also would not look good for the staff of the school to allow the two of you to be together in private after accusations of this nature have been levelled at you."

Harry's face darkened but he nodded tightly.

"I would suggest the Great Hall, as most of the students are about to go to morning classes," McGonagall said, and opened the door a little wider, signalling to the students who had finished their breakfasts that it was safe to leave. The three moved aside slightly as a large group of students went past them, some of them carefully not looking at Draco and Harry, some openly gaping at them. Draco pressed his lips together and focussed on the floor.

They finally re-entered the half-empty Great Hall and chose a seat at the Hufflepuff table, away from the remaining students, Accioing their schoolbags and lapsing into uncomfortable silence.

"Look, I'm - I'm sorry," Harry began awkwardly. "That really was out of line, accusing you like that."

"Fine, apology accepted," Draco said shortly.

"Is there... a purpose, to the article, do you know?" Harry asked cautiously. "Other than to make me look bad?"

"What, you don't think that's enough?"

"No, it's quite enough, thanks, I'm just wondering."

"No. That's the only reason, as far as I know." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm... I'm sorry, I'll talk to the reporter, say that - bloody hell..." Draco trailed off.

"What?"

"It won't do any good. He's poisoned the well. If I say anything to defend you, it'll look like I'm only doing it because I'm afraid of you. And if there's an investigation and it comes up with nothing, it'll just look like a cover-up. Shit."

"It's all right."

"It's not all right. For one thing, this makes me look like a fucking victim, like I couldn't stand up to you - Mordred, one of the two times you landed me in the hospital, I broke your nose, and the whole school saw it!"

"I don't think it matters."

"No, all that matters to my father is that you look bad. My own role doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Draco nodded wearily.

"And it matters to me, that you would offer to straighten it out with the Prophet. Whether it's for the sake of my reputation or yours." Harry gave him a small smile. "I appreciate the offer."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Draco repeated for the tenth time. "If anything, it was my fault that day."

"You never even told me why."

"Because I couldn't-" He stopped, shook his head.

"What?"

Draco rubbed his forehead tiredly. "It doesn't matter." No, it didn't matter - and besides, he hadn't even wanted to tell Harry about it when it actually had mattered; he wasn't about to tell him now.

"Are... are you all right?" Harry said tentatively.

"Yeah, fine." He cleared his throat. "You?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll get over it. I've had worse said about me," he said with a wry smile.

Draco nodded glumly, stared at the table.

"So, we're back in the news again, isn't that nice and cosy?" Harry said, his smile now much more forced.

"Quite." Draco shook his head. "I really thought I was done with this after the unbonding." Harry smiled but didn't say anything, and Draco was struck with how much he didn't want to get up and leave. Not so soon; they'd both just had a nasty shock, and he didn't particularly feel like getting up and going on with his day just yet, especially as - inevitably - that entailed going to Potions class.

"How... how are you, otherwise?"

"Good," Harry said, a little startled.

"I saw your last Quidditch practice."

"Still so sure you're going to fly us into the ground?" Harry asked with a small smile.

Draco smirked. "Were you ill? You couldn't catch the Snitch to save your life."

"A little busy trying to keep the Beaters in line, thanks," Harry said. "And yeah, I was feeling a bit off, but I'm fine now, and I'll still fly you into the ground in the last game. I could fly you into the ground on your best day even if I had raging dragon pox."

Draco snickered. "You wish. Though I'll admit Weasley's improved immensely - oh that's damning with faint praise, sorry."

"He's a good Keeper when he's got his confidence up," Harry said firmly.

"The offer still stands, you know - I can hex the announcer to babble over him like Lavender Brown at her most lovesick for your match with Hufflepuff."

They laughed together and then Draco happened to glance at a second-year Hufflepuff boy, whose wide eyes reminded him that no matter how normal this felt, it wasn't. Not any more.

"We... we'd better get to class," he said reluctantly.

"Yeah." Harry glanced around. "Don't need to give the gossip pages any more fodder." Draco opened his mouth and Harry cut in, "And if you're going to apologize for that article again, don't. You're not your father."

"Thanks." They got up, shouldered their schoolbags, headed out.

"Actually," Harry said, "I felt like I should apologize to you for the other day, with the picture of us talking outside the Quidditch hut."

"Oh that, yeah." Draco shrugged, feeling again that life-in-a-fish-bowl crawling sensation between his shoulder blades. The picture had been grainy and small, but the papers had been delighted, and the Quibbler headline had trilled "Just Friends Again - Or More?"

"Was your father angry?"

"Didn't say anything to me. Though you could've blown me over with a feather over that quote from him in the Prophet, 'I respect my son's privacy.'" He paused. "'Respect my privacy,' my arse. Since when, I wanted to ask."

Harry laughed and Draco bit his lip. That... had not been respectful. Father certainly expected better from him. Though right now, after being exposed as a supposed spousal abuse victim on the front page of the Prophet for the sake of Lucius Malfoy's political machinations, Draco felt that perhaps he could be excused for poking fun at him for just a few seconds.

"So how are you doing in Potions, by the way?" he said by way of changing the subject.

"Me? Fine. Hermione's taken over helping me where you left off. I'm even doing all right in Arithmancy. It's just Transfiguration that's not so good."

"I thought that was one of your best subjects."

"Normally, yeah. Not this section. Besides, I'm working with Lisa Turpin and Stephen Cornfoot now, and..." He shook his head.

"Do they not help?"

"They try, I just don't get it."

"That's odd. Cornfoot's my Charms partner now, I find him quite helpful," Draco said, and almost laughed as he caught his own unintentional double-entendre. "You know. Ravenclaw. Very efficient."

"I just don't understand half of what he says," Harry confessed. "I'm getting really lost in that class, and McGonagall's not teaching the same things to the Gryffindor class, so Hermione can't even help me out."

"That's me in Herbology. The Slytherin class isn't taking what we're taking, and I can't seem to care enough about it to figure it out on my own."

"You never seemed to have much problem with it before."

"Between you and Longbottom it was difficult not picking up something. But I'm sitting with Hannah Abbott now. Pretty girl, but a bit dim."

"She's not that bad," Harry said with a small smile.

"She doesn't speak more than two words at a time."

"She's just shy."

They reached the Potions classroom, and Draco suppressed a sigh but resolutely reached out for the door handle, looking back curiously as Harry made a small noise in his throat.

"Yes?"

"I... I could help you, with Herbology. If you want. I'm pretty good at it."

"What?"

Harry looked away, chose his words carefully. "It would... be nice to not always avoid each other."

Draco took a deep breath. "Yeah, it would." He paused. "We're supposed to, though. The Healer said it would be weird, at first, but eventually..."

Harry swallowed and nodded, looking like he was just going to forget it, and Draco mentally kicked himself, wishing he could take the words back. And something of that must have communicated itself to Harry because Harry looked up, searching his eyes for something, and seemed to find it.

The bond had taught him what Harry looked like when he felt something. And right now, though he couldn't feel it at all, he knew Harry was feeling uncertain, shy, wanting to talk to him. And tense. Very tense.

As was Draco. He was actually having a bit of trouble breathing. Over Herbology.

"I..." Harry cleared his throat. "I miss you."

The trouble breathing was not getting better.

"I... I do too," Draco finally said.

And they both let out their breath.

Harry swallowed hard, slowly brought his hand up to cover Draco's on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco took a deep breath. "But... the Healer said..."

Harry sighed and dropped his hand. Yeah. Back to reality. It did feel good to know that at least Draco wasn't the only one feeling this, but really, it didn't change anything.

"I know," Harry said. "I know, we shouldn't." He cleared his throat. "But... but what's the harm? I mean..."

Draco shook his head, sternly telling himself that it would be the height of stupidity to do anything other than avoid Harry like the Pogrebin Plague. Prepared to say so, and found himself almost slapping himself in frustration when what came out of his mouth instead was, "Well..."

"I'm, I'm not saying anything, you know, improper, just - it seems stupid to not even... not even study together, or anything."

"Yeah, all right," Draco said before he could think better of it and bite it back. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that."

"Really?" Harry's eyes widened slightly.

"Why not?"

**ooooooo**

Why not indeed, he was still wondering at himself as he got ready for bed that night.

That had been really, really stupid. Monumentally stupid. He was supposed to be getting on with his life, not taking a flying leap into abject irredeemable idiocy. A giant leap like agreeing to meet tomorrow to exchange notes for Herbology and Transfiguration.

He was getting on with his life. Enjoying the freedom of being on his own, not having to deal with Harry's friends, not having to deal with being in the news-

Except that was part of why he and Harry had had that lovely moment, wasn't it? Draco was doing just fine staying away from him, but then his father had to go do something that shoved them right back together. And Father probably wouldn't ever be able to understand that there was anything wrong with what he'd done; all he saw was that he had a chance to score points for the Dark Lord, and the hell with what it did to his own son.

Although... maybe that article was what Father had meant by "compensation". It didn't seem big enough to Draco, but then the Dark Lord could be a little odd sometimes, especially when it came to Harry. If that was the case, Father could probably be forgiven for dragging Draco's name through the mud at the same time as Harry's.

Damn, but it would've been good to have known beforehand that Father was intending on running the story today. That would be too much to ask, of course. Father never saw a need to give him sufficient information about anything; he either thought that Draco would figure things out on his own, or that he wasn't worthy of being informed. Or maybe he just didn't think about it.

Which was merely annoying under normal circumstances, but infuriating when his family's actions had such a direct impact on Draco himself. He had no more information right now than he'd had during second year when the Heir of Slytherin business was going on, or fifth year when his father led that raid on the Ministry of Magic - only this was worse because the shit happening without his knowledge had to do with his own bloody bond. Just last week, he'd read an article saying that Parnassus McKay had offed himself in prison - and he'd had no idea how, or why, or whether or not his family was involved. And now this...

He just hoped that his little hissy fit this morning wouldn't get back to Father. Although if it did, he could point out what he'd told Harry: it didn't matter what he said, Harry's name had been tarnished and Father had made sure nothing Draco could say or deny would make much of a difference to that. He'd just have to hope that he could convince Father that he'd thought of all that before pitching a fit, instead of afterwards.

And he'd have to hope that if it got back to Father that he and Harry had gotten together outside of class, he could convince him it was purely about academics. Which it was. Really.

Draco sighed deeply. The only thing dumber than agreeing to see Harry tomorrow was pretending to himself that there was really nothing more to it than simple schoolwork. There was such a thing as too much denial.

And he'd had enough denial lately.

Denial was sleeping with Pansy and Stephen Cornfoot and telling himself that it was enough for him. Trying to tell himself that he was over Harry. If that were really true, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to ignore the screaming warnings in his head today, the clear signs in Harry's voice and eyes that said he was not interested in schoolwork, the unacceptably eager response within himself, and jump at the chance to see Harry alone.

His father was going to kill him if he found out. And here he was, still stubbornly determined to do it, because he bloody well wanted to. Because freedom and independence and Pansy and Cornfoot were not enough to compensate for what he'd lost.

Not nearly enough. Pansy was a good friend, and he'd enjoyed her very much, and touching her was obviously a marked improvement on touching himself, but she didn't exactly set his blood coursing. Never had. And the feeling was mutual - she enjoyed herself thoroughly, he knew that much, but she didn't have to bite her lip to keep from crying out before he even kissed her, the way Harry did.

And Cornfoot... again, pleasant, and definitely better than nothing. But nothing special, either. Not only had he been somewhat clumsy and caused Draco some discomfort their first time together, not only had he been a little quick to the finish line, but he'd also been nervous and clueless, because although he wasn't a virgin, he'd never actually had sex with another boy before. And his nervousness, unlike Harry's, hadn't been endearing or arousing. Cornfoot had asked question after question after question, until Draco had snapped at him to bring a QuickQuill next time.

Thankfully, he hadn't, and the next time had been more enjoyable, and Draco had told himself he'd improve, there was potential there, Harry hadn't been an expert at first either...

Except he couldn't help remembering how Harry had dropped his head back and choked out small swear words in the heat of passion. Harry had bitten his hand to keep from keening the first time Draco had gone down on him. Harry's excitement had always ignited a fire in Draco - even the memory did, he realized ruefully, as he reached under the covers and touched himself, closing his eyes and remembering the sparks that had flown between them. Stopped to make sure he had a silencing spell on the curtains. Which took him right into a slightly embarrassing, yet highly stimulating memory of a time right after winter term began, when they'd forgotten to set a privacy spell, and had been startled to hear Blaise's irate drawl from the other side of the curtains, answering Draco's breathless query to Harry.

"Oh,  _definitely_  let him suck you, Potter, if it shuts him up. I've a History of Magic presentation tomorrow and all this is playing merry hell with my comprehension of the International Warlock Convention."

Draco closed his eyes, hand moving faster, smirking as he remembered Harry's mortified blush and immediate hiss of a silencing charm. He'd expected Harry to draw away and insist they conclude in their own room, but Harry had instead pushed Draco onto his back and covered his mouth and brought them both off quickly and scorchingly, muttering something about "for Zabini's sake, you know" as they'd come together. That Harry's inhibitions had been roundly beaten into submission by his libido had been - and still was - quite a turn-on.

He panted his release, warmed by the memory.

Cleaned himself off and told himself firmly that it wouldn't be the same with Harry if - all right, let's not be naïve,  _when_  they slept together again. Pomfrey had said the bond spell was what made it so intense. It wasn't there any more. Maybe after they finally slept together, post-bond, Draco would be able to accept that what he was missing was simply gone for good. And then he'd get on with his life. And look forward to feeling that kind of intensity again with his future wife, a nice pureblood girl from a good family.

And then, he told himself, he wouldn't need denial any more.

**ooooooo**

**Day 134, Tuesday**

"Pathetic. Utterly pathetic."

"It's not that easy!"

"Try again," Draco said, lounging comfortably on his green and silver chair.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his own scarf, cheerfully defying him in a red-gold crumple on the floor of the empty classroom. "Pannoseta," he said firmly.

The scarf quivered teasingly but remained limp.

"Why didn't you get a chance to practice this in class?"

"Lisa and Stephen were too busy arguing over whose chair was the most solid, and whether solid was better than light."

"Ravenclaws." Draco snickered.

"Lisa was also taking a strip out of Stephen for skipping out on their Transfiguration review on Sunday. Accused him of studying with a Hufflepuff, since they did their test last week."

"Cheating on your study partner." Draco rolled his eyes. "The ultimate Ravenclaw sin." Harry laughed, then looked back at his limp scarf. Damn it, this was normally his best subject. "Just think of the chair you want," Draco reminded him. "The words aren't important, you know that, it's all about keeping what you want in your mind. The words only help you to focus your thoughts."

"Right, yeah," he said, trying not to sound impatient as Draco reminded him of things any third year knew. He frowned at the scarf. "Maybe it would help if I could understand why this is supposed to be even remotely useful."

"Please tell me you're not serious," Draco said in a pained voice. "You're in a swamp, you get tired, don't want to sit down in the mud, you take off your scarf and turn it into a chair. How is this not useful?"

"S'ppose so," Harry said unenthusiastically.

"I know, I know, Gryffindors love sitting in the mud," Draco muttered. Harry reflected that once that would have been a natural segue for a few gratuitous insults featuring the word "mud."

Right. The chair. He focussed on his scarf, trying to think of what he wanted it to look like when he was done. And not on Draco, looking perfectly comfortable in his chair and completely throwing off his concentration.

Bloody hell.

Damn, he couldn't, he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't like the last months of their bond, where being with Draco felt completely normal and, if anything, made him feel more centred than he'd ever felt before, the firmness of their bond feeling like a steady base in their lives. Draco's presence was not relaxing at all right now. It was comforting but distracting, like Harry was hyper-alert and concentrated now that he could see him and be near him - but what he could concentrate on the most was the mere fact that Draco was here. It didn't help that he kept thinking of Draco's face yesterday when they'd talked about getting together, almost sure, even without a bond, that Draco wasn't just interested in practicing Transfigurations or doing impressions of McGonagall and Neville or even picking up Herbology notes.

Just like with Cho, this whole conflict between desperately wanting to be with somebody and then being thrown off by proximity to them. Draco would've hexed him on the spot if he'd suspected Harry was comparing the two of them, but there it was.

He took a deep breath. Draco was not Cho Chang, and Harry was not fifteen years old any more. He lowered his wand.

"What is it?" asked Draco.

"I don't think I can do this," he said slowly.

"Why not?"

"I... this whole 'let's just be friends,' it's too - I can't."

He cleared his throat. "It's too distracting."

There was a pause, then Draco swallowed hard and stood up, quietly murmuring Finite Incantatum and pocketing his scarf. "Two choices, then. Politely part company, or don't try to be 'just friends.'"

Harry looked up. He'd had plenty of experience with what Draco looked like when he wanted something. He didn't need the bond. He could tell.

Harry stepped a little closer, looked into Draco's eyes. Saw hesitation, shyness... and the same desire he felt, himself. He slowly came closer, expecting Draco to back up any second. Hell, expecting himself to back up, any second.

Neither one of them did.

He touched Draco's arm softly. "Are you sure..."

Draco hesitated, looked down. "My father'll kill me if..."

"I know. This is probably not a good idea..." Harry trailed off.

Draco looked up, and... oh, damn. Yeah, they both knew what the smart thing was. But neither of them had ever been terribly smart when it came to the other. Why would anything have changed just because they weren't being smart about friendship - or whatever this was - instead of hatred?

He came closer, helpless to stop. And this time, Draco was the one frozen with indecision, and Harry was the one who wanted this the most, the one with the least to lose, like Draco had been back then in Dumbledore's office the first time...

And then their lips met and it was like coming home.

The familiarity. The warmth. The desire, the need to touch more, the same scent, taste - even the sound Draco made, the sigh of relief or whatever it was, it was all the same...

Pomfrey had said it was the bond that made it so powerful, but if this was what was left after the bond, it felt almost no different, other than the fact that he couldn't feel Draco's emotions directly. The incredible passion was there, though, and the overwhelming need to not have him go away, the instant turn-on of everything, the desperate desire to touch him everywhere, and Harry forced himself to keep his hands busy in Draco's hair, his cheek and neck, instead of wandering too far too fast.

"Oh, fuck," said Draco softly, pulling away slightly and trying to catch his breath.

"What?" Harry asked nervously.

"Nothing, I just, I thought that... never mind." Draco looked down, absently running a hand through Harry's hair, clearly upset.

Harry forced himself to stop. Pull back. Look into Draco's eyes, try to read them, figure out whether their cloudy grey haziness was confusion or arousal or second thoughts.

Not second thoughts, he guessed, as Draco made a low sound in his throat and pulled him close and they kissed fiercely and Harry concentrated everything he had on not demanding more and not letting his body's shocking reaction completely take over him.

Oh, god, he was home.

**ooooooo**

"Did you get your Astronomy paper done?" Ron asked as Harry tossed his schoolbag to the floor and collapsed onto his bed.

"Er, yeah.  All done."

Ron laughed.  "Right, mate, who is it?" he said kindly.

"What?  Who?" Harry said, his heart sinking.

Ron's amused smile made Harry's carefully prepared evasions seem utterly pointless.  Less than fifteen minutes after returning to Gryffindor, too.  Granted, he'd been gone rather longer than he'd said he would, and he'd probably acted a bit evasive about where he was going, and he knew he'd been unable to keep his inner turmoil from showing on his face, but he'd honestly thought Ron wouldn't clue in that there was anything odd going on.  He didn't use to be terribly observant.

"You said you were going to finish your Astronomy paper, but you left the book behind.  And that's not an 'I've just had a really productive study session' look on your face."

"Ron..."

"Why are you hiding it?  Shy about it getting into the papers?"

Harry blew out his breath, giving in. "Yeah," he said, staring at the ceiling.

"Harry. Best mate here.  You know I wouldn't tell anybod - or is she the one who's shy about getting into the papers?"

"It's both of us."

"Come on, who is it?"

"Ron, I can't," he said, shaking his head, but Ron just grinned.

"We're all going to find out eventually, you know that.  You should point out to her that if you tell me and Hermione we can help you keep it quiet for a little longer. Just tell her that..." Ron trailed off, cocking his head to the side.  He peered at Harry closely and Harry tried to project blank innocence back.

"It's not a bloke, is it?"

Harry's heart jumped and he shook his head quickly, but the damage was done.  He hadn't been able to cover his reaction and Ron was looking at him in slight shock, which fairly quickly melted into amusement.  "Harry."

"Don't... don't tell Hermione," Harry said quickly, sitting up.

"Why not?"

"I just... I don't think she'd understand."

"Why? Because she's Muggle-born?  Hermione doesn't think like that, you know that."

"No, it's not that-"

"Then what?"  Harry shook his head stubbornly, and Ron frowned.  "It's about who this is, isn't it?"

"I-"

Ron sat up suddenly. "It's not Malfoy, is it?"

Harry's eyes opened wide and he stared at Ron in shock.  Never in a million years would he have thought that Ron would guess - he checked to make sure it was really Ron on the other bed and not Hermione.

"It is," Ron said flatly, and Harry drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them and taking a deep breath, unable to face him.

Damn. Damn, that had been so much faster then he'd ever expected, and the urge to apologize was so bloody strong.  My father'll kill me, Draco had said, and Harry had to agree and thank his stars that he didn't have that problem, but he had to acknowledge that taking up with Draco voluntarily probably wouldn't thrill his friends either.  It was one thing to be involved with a probable future Death Eater and obnoxious hater of Muggle-borns because you had no choice. To seek him out voluntarily...

He kept his head down, not wanting to see accusation or disappointment in Ron's eyes, and cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  "How - how did you know?"

There was a pause, then Ron sat back against his headboard, rubbed his face wearily and gave a small laugh. "Hermione, actually," he said.  Harry stared at him, lost.  "You know that article asking if you two might get back together, a few days ago?"

"Yeah?"

"I said something like 'when Flobberworms fly', but she got really serious.  Said she wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to. She thought you were missing him more than you let on."

"Oh."

"Harry... why?"

Harry closed his eyes, profoundly grateful that there seemed to be no disappointment in Ron's voice, only bewildered concern.  "I just... I miss him," Harry muttered.  "That's all.  I just... really miss him."

There was a brief silence, as Ron waited for him to elaborate.  When he didn't Ron sighed.  "That's what Hermione said.  I told her you'd just been down because you were under the weather, but she said it was more than that.  She even said that - d'you know Muggles believe you can actually make yourself physically ill if you're upset about things?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled slightly.

"Barmy.  Said they've got things like Cheering Potions, and they take them if it gets really bad."

"I don't need a Cheering Potion, Ron."

"You sure?  It'd be a lot easier and less dangerous than taking up with him again."  Harry looked away.  "D'you... feel any better, now?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, that's good, I s'ppose."  Ron took a deep breath.  "You're mental, you know that, right?  This is  _Malfoy_  we're talking about.  I mean I know you got to know him better and got to like him and all that, but you said it yourself, you didn't want to get close to him, knowing where he's going."

"I know what I said, it's just... it's different now."

Ron nodded, his expression resigned.  "Listen mate, you'd better tell Hermione, whether you want to or not. She'll have kittens if she figures it out on her own."

"I know." Harry winced.

"We'll help you keep this under wraps, if you want.  I just hope you bloody well know what you're doing."

Harry closed his eyes. "I don't."

**ooooooo**

**Day 136, Thursday**

It wasn't supposed to be like this, Draco thought desperately. Not like this, Harry braced on his elbows over a desk in an unused classroom, their passionate kisses and fumbling and gasping having turned into this, the back of Harry's neck hot against Draco's lips and tongue, his thighs shaking, both of them breathless as Draco thrust hard into him, one hand keeping Harry's hips steady and the other wrapped firmly around his erection. No bond to let Draco know what Harry was feeling and no bond needed, not with Harry's voice catching under him and Harry's knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk, and there was nothing casual about it. Nothing. Even the fact that the edge of the desk was probably digging into Harry's thighs and he was going to have bruises tomorrow sparking excitement in Draco, that Harry could just do this and not care, that they were moving together again, that their shirts were hanging open and their trousers were going to be ruined and Harry's red and gold tie had crumpled onto the desk and Harry was thrusting into Draco's hand like there was nothing else for him in the world.

Fuck, it was not supposed to be like this. He moved his left hand from Harry's hip to the edge of the desk, lacing their fingers together, groaning as Harry's fingers tightened around his and Harry bowed his head and cursed and shuddered and started to lose control and Draco felt like he could die happy right then, and it was not supposed to be this good.

**ooooooo**

Draco dropped into the common room seat next to Pansy and congratulated himself on having brought himself firmly under control after his latest encounter with Harry. No suspicious love marks; they'd checked each other carefully. They'd both showered, and he was definitely wearing all of his own clothes and none of Harry's and every article of clothing was as neat and tidy as they could make it.

And his expression, he was pleased to note in the mirror as he re-entered the nearly empty common room, was one of casual concern over tomorrow's Ancient Runes test. Absolutely no clue on his face that he was inwardly demanding an explanation of himself as to what the fuck was wrong with him.

Pansy nodded absently, not looking up from her Runes text as she reached out and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "How's your, er, close friend, Cornfoot?" she said softly.

Draco froze in the act of taking his own text out of his schoolbag. "What?"

Pansy tittered, closing her book. "My goodness, Draco, you should see your face."

He searched her face carefully for any hint of jealousy or anger. She seemed mostly amused.

"It's all right, darling," she smirked. "I caught Cornfoot ogling you during Charms last week. I thought you might be curious to try other boys after Potter. Though I do warn you, your father may not be so understanding."

Draco released his breath, settling against the back of the seat. "My father won't mind," he said. "As long as I can still marry a suitable girl when the time comes."

"Mm, yes, I'd say you're still quite capable in that department," Pansy purred archly. He grinned at her and she patted her lap, indicating he should settle down for a little discussion. He obligingly lay down on the couch, settling his head onto her lap. "So... d'you prefer boys now?"

"No. I mean, maybe - I don't know..."

"Was I not enough for you, then?" she asked lightly, running her fingers through his hair again.

"Pants, come on." He looked up at her worriedly.

"I detest that nickname and you are not going to put me off that easily," she said sternly. "Come, now, my womanly pride is at stake."

"If you must know, I thought I'd go with Cornfoot because I didn't want to make things awkward between you and me. Look, I love a tumble as well as anybody but you have to admit-"

"No, that's sensible. Though I swear if you start coming back here with love bites all over you we'll have to have words. Or more than words. To be perfectly fair. Mustn't leave a friend high and dry like that, after all."

"All right." He grinned up at her.

"Is it the same as before?"

"What, sex with a boy?" Draco shrugged. "They're different people."

"I know that, Draco." Pansy's voice dropped lower. "And I'm not talking about Cornfoot."

"Beg pardon?"

Pansy was examining her nails with great interest. "D'you remember when that bitch McGonagall set me to polishing old NEWT plaques last year, after I transfigured the Abbott girl's pigtails into green slime? Your father had the highest Charms NEWT in twelve years. Not a stupid man, your father."

Draco stared at her.

"And if I can set a simple tracking charm on you to let me know when you're fucking Stephen Cornfoot and when you've moved on to someone else, it's relatively safe to assume that your father can too."

"Pansy-" Draco started to rise, and Pansy's hand came down to his shoulder, keeping him in place.

"I can only hope Potter has done something to addle your brains and that you'll be able to use that as an excuse to your father when he finds out, because he will find out, and there will be hell to pay."

"I-"

"This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done," she said, her expression and voice totally at odds - the one perfectly playful and casual, the other perfectly flat. "I should turn you in. I said I'd stand by you but this is really, really testing my patience and faith in you. This kind of idiocy doesn't exactly bode well for you being any use to me whatsoever; you won't live long enough, if you're daft enough to risk everything for a few shags with _Potter_ , of all people."

Draco's heart was racing, and he couldn't seem to look away from her. As many fights as they'd had over the years, he'd never seen her so furious, her regular screaming sarcasm replaced by icy calm.

"Do you have, oh,  _any_  explanation?"

"I-"

"No. I didn't think so."

He frowned and decided to go on the offensive. "Look, that's enough-" He started to get up and she whispered something and he felt his limbs freeze in place and kicked himself for being caught off guard, again, by Pansy's trick of keeping her wand strapped to the inside of her sleeve such that she could peek it out and cast hexes whenever she pleased, without giving away what she was about to do.

"Draco, your father won't bother to disown you if he finds out. He'll just murder you in the messiest way possible," she said conversationally, and he was powerless to get up or even look away from her.

"He won't," Draco said hollowly, thankful that she was allowing him to at least talk.

"Your father took away your voice for a week when you were eight."

"I'd talked back to him."

"When I talked back to my mother she had the house elf wash my mouth out with bitterroot. When I did badly in Potions I had my broom taken away for a month. Your father took away your magic for the entire summer after first year, when Granger bested your grades."

"Nobody else was supposed to use magic during the summer either," Draco pointed out evenly.

"Like that had ever meant anything to any of our families," scoffed Pansy. "We are not the bloody Weasleys or Longbottoms. And even if we were, as you noted that summer, there's a big difference between not being allowed to and not being  _able_  to use your magic." Pansy shook her head angrily. "And it doesn't matter that he bought your way onto the Quidditch team after your mother guilted him into it for turning you into a damned Squib for six weeks. Especially since he bloody well blinded you for two days, for losing to Potter at Quidditch. He, he made you drink undiluted Emetium potion and had you throwing up for a week when you let slip that you liked that Furies Seeker, just because he was Muggle-born. He locked you in a room with Fenrir Greyback during the full moon when you dared to say that perhaps the Dark Lord shouldn't ally himself with werewolves - and I  _know_  Fenrir couldn't have bit you but you didn't know that and what your father did was cruel and he comes unhinged when you defy him or disappoint him and you're letting yourself forget that now and-" She suddenly bent down and took him into her arms, her words muffled into his neck. "I HATE you! You're a sodding IDIOT!!"

Draco closed his eyes and tried very hard to not think about any of what Pansy had just said, and waited nervously until Pansy brought herself back under control before he cleared his throat. "I just need to... I don't know, let go properly or something, that's all," he said quietly, wishing she'd let him at least turn his face away from her piercing gaze. "It was - it was over too soon, I didn't have time to - look, this is Potter we're talking about, right?" He waited until she nodded. "He's not exactly the brightest candle in the chandelier. Not that fit, not that interesting either. His social skills are atrocious and his politics and friends-" He stopped. "I just need to get him out of my system, all right? It won't take long..."

"Draco, you idiot." Pansy put her arms around him and shook her head. "Queenie's mother's got the right of it after all. Men, you're bloody useless, the lot of you. Ruled by your trousers and nothing else." She shook her head and stroked Draco's hair, whispering Finite Incantatum to end the paralysing spell, and he slowly relaxed into her embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chibitoaster has an illustration of the boys' meeting to, um, exchange class notes, at
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/scarf-chair_f.jpg
> 
> Also: For the record, before anybody sends me (understandably) indignant reviews pointing out that I'm perpetuating the myth that abused spouses are wimps or victims or can't stand up for themselves or whatever, let me make it very, very clear that that is not my stance on spousal abuse _at all_. There are many complex reasons why people abuse their spouses, and even more complex reasons why people stay in abusive marriages. I had Draco say what he said and feel what he felt because I thought that's what would be going through his mind - not mine. I doubt he'd be able to grasp the concept of "an abused spouse not necessarily a wimp" in the best of times, let alone right after seeing an article in a paper labelling him as an abused spouse. I think he'd be a little more concerned with his own image, and Harry's, and his anger at his father, to really think about the broader social implications of spousal abuse.


	18. February 18 - February 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to my betas, Kyllikki and Jérémie.

**Day 143, Thursday**

Pansy stomped down the corridor, fuming. What a rotten day. First, all her Potions notes for the day ruined by a stray drop of SpreadRot, and Millicent Bulstrode was going to be very, very unhappy if she couldn't come up with adequate compensation for it. Then that Hufflepuff prat Zacharias Smith had made her look like a fool in Runes, with Queenie's enthusiastic help. Then the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had decided to shake things up and make "established groups" work with people they didn't work with very often, did a random match-up spell, and assigned Pansy and Draco to work with Potter, Weasley and Granger. On an assignment that required them to practice after class. For the rest of the week. Lovely.

The only thing that had gone right so far was that all classes on the third floor had been cancelled almost an hour early when a sixth-year had accidentally cast a Sonorus spell so powerful that it turned the entire floor into a cacophonous hell. Which was nice, as it let Pansy out of Slytherin's History of Magic and gave her twenty minutes of quiet study time before their stupid Defence group met in classroom 11.

It might not be that bad, she reflected as she approached the door. Pissed as she was at Draco for wanting to be around Potter again in the first place, this would at least be a chance for the two of them to be together without having to watch to make sure they didn't tip anybody off about their renewed relationship.

Weasley and Granger, happily, weren't annoyingly Hufflepuffledy pleased with Draco and Potter's little fling; in fact, they were both a little worried. Though Granger had awkwardly started to say something the other day, about how it was understandable that Potter would want to go back to Draco, as he "hadn't been raised with enough physical affection", and was thus "only naturally drawn back to the only relationship where he'd had-" before Pansy had (very politely, too) asked her to please keep her Muggle-born ideas to herself and just concentrate on helping them both get this out of their systems with no one the wiser.

Get it out of their systems, my foot, Pansy huffed to herself. Draco wasn't getting anything out of his system. He was too bloody cheery for a boy having one last fling. Stupid fool actually looked content. With  _Potter_. If it hadn't been for the identity of the person he was with, and the nervous wreck he was making of Pansy, she would've been happy for him too.

And now they were all supposed to work together. Until Monday. She pushed open the door into the small storage area assigned to the Defence classroom, thinking her day couldn't possibly get worse, then opened the door into the classroom proper and stopped short.

Her day just had.

Draco and Potter were intertwined on a chair, Potter straddling Draco and their lips working together hungrily, shirts unbuttoned halfway down, Potter's red and gold tie over Draco's shoulder, Potter's fingers in Draco's hair. Draco pressing himself up into Potter's embrace, tilting his head back, groaning as Potter's mouth moved down his throat. Evidently too engrossed in one another to have heard Pansy, or to notice her where she stood, just a few feet away from them in the shadow of the storage area.

And oh god, that was something Pansy did  _not_  need to see, Potter gliding his hands down and undoing Draco's trouser button and zip, and Draco hissing his approval, breath speeding up, eagerly returning the favour, slipping a hand into Potter's trousers.

Oh, shit, this was just - arg! Pansy stifled a squeak as Potter quickly slid down and knelt before the chair, and Draco shifted a bit and choked back a cry and - Pansy's view was blocked by a desk so she couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but from Draco's strangled moans and the arch of his neck and the way his eyes closed in delight, it was pretty damned obvious, and it was-

... disturbingly hot.

And completely  _hysterical_.

Pansy paused in mid-step, her initial indignant impulse to screech at them to cease and desist replaced with dizzying suddenness by utter hilarity and a firm determination to do nothing whatsoever to disturb them.

She smirked and cast a small visual concealment charm on herself and sound-proofing charm on the room, and settled in to wait. And observe. Very, very closely. Because she was never, ever going to let Draco forget that she had seen him, up close and personal, getting his wand polished by none other than the Boy Who Lived himself.

She might as well get some pointers while she was at it, she thought, suppressing a fit of the giggles. Because she'd certainly never seen Draco this uninhibited with her. Whatever Potter was doing, it had Draco moaning and covering his eyes with one hand, legs quivering. Pansy considered whether she should try to move further into the room to observe from a better angle, or whether they would notice her.

"No, why don't you stay, it's just Defence practice. We're learning to set vampire wards-" Pansy whipped around as Granger and Blaise walked in, and she realized with a start that of course, no matter how much noise they were making, Draco and Potter couldn't hear them.

"I thought you were going from History to the library?" she asked Blaise brusquely, moving to block their view of the classroom and frantically trying to think of how to distract him.

"Hermione offered to help me with Charms after your prac- what the hell?" He looked past Pansy and she swore, grabbing at his shoulder, but it was too late. "What the FUCK, Pansy??"

"Blaise-"

Granger had spotted Draco and Potter as well and turned a vivid shade of crimson, whirling away from the sight.

"Parkinson!! What-"

"You knew about this, didn't you??" Blaise's shock was quickly turning into outrage and he confronted Pansy.

"Blaise, let me exp-"

"How long has this been going on??" Blaise demanded.

"We need to-" Granger said, distressed, motioning them away from the open door.

"Merlin, Granger they can't hear us," Pansy said impatiently. "I did a spell and they're a little busy anyway - Blaise, please-"

"How. Long."

Pansy took a deep breath. "A little over a week."

"Fucking. Mordred. God, what a bloody IDIOT!!" Blaise said, leaning on the wall and thumping his head against it. "What the  _hell_  is he thinking?"

"He's not thinking much. Not with his brain, anyway."

"For god's sake," Granger hissed. "We can't just stand here while-"

Pansy spared a glance behind her, where Potter was bringing Draco closer to completion and she was completely missing it, and snapped "What?? Do you want to go in there and tell them to stop at once? They won't thank you for that, you know!" Blaise gave a short bark of laughter and Pansy took courage from that, noting he seemed just slightly less livid. "I thought you were keen on enabling this terribly romantic-"

"I've told you, I don't think it's romantic, I think it's dangerous-"

"Well that's something, at least," Blaise said dryly, and Granger looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why? Did you think I'd be delighted that Harry's sleeping with  _Draco_ _Malfoy_?"

Blaise scowled at her. "God forbid," he sneered, then smirked as he looked over Pansy's shoulder again and noticed that Potter had apparently done a fairly good job, as Draco leaned back on his chair, gasping for breath. Granger resolutely kept her back to them, her face beet-red.

"Look, Granger, if you're so concerned with their privacy, why don't you make sure nobody disturbs them? Like, for example, Weasley? Go wait for him outside, there's a good girl," Pansy said snidely as Granger exited with alacrity, narrowly resisting the urge to add "Shoo!"

She and Blaise turned back to Draco and Potter, noting that Draco had apparently recovered enough to return the favour, and that Potter was looking thoroughly appreciative.

"He's good at that, apparently," Blaise said grudgingly, as Potter threw his head back and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Not as good as Potter was with him. I don't think I ever heard him swear like that when I did him," Pansy admitted.

"The Prophet would absolutely kill - no, well, it would be a little tawdry for the Prophet, but the Quibbler or the Inquisitor would kill for an exclusive on this. The Boy Who Blew. I'd retire on the proceeds."

"You're not the only one. They need to be more careful; this classroom is supposed to be unused, but next time it could be somebody who's not on his side-"

"Bite your tongue. I am not on his side, not when it comes to this."

"Blaise-"

"Don't worry, I won't betray his little secret, though it would serve him right. Now do be quiet. You're here, they can't see you, you may as well pay attention and learn something useful," Blaise said sourly. He shook his head as he gazed at the pair in the classroom and Potter gasped and reached down, presumably to touch Draco's hair. "Nice concealment charm, by the way. You're a complete perv, Pansy."

"You're watching them too."

"It's more intellectual curiosity than anything else. You know other boys do nothing for me. Although if either of them offered to do  _that_  for me, I doubt I'd refuse..." Blaise trailed off as Potter groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, clearly approaching climax. "Ah, finally." Blaise waited until Potter had finished shuddering his release and pulled Draco up onto his lap, kissing him breathlessly, before stepping into the room, clapping.

"Very nice performance, boys."

Pansy had to laugh as Potter and Draco's faces went through identical stages from dazed satiation to shock to outraged embarrassment. They scrambled to put themselves in order, hastily doing up trousers and shirt buttons, mortified and furious.

"You are an idiot," Blaise told Draco without preamble, ignoring Potter. "A bloody fool, and you are going to get yourself killed. You must know that."

"You stupid, perverted _fuck!_ " was all Draco seemed to be able to come up by way of a witty retort as he tucked in his shirt, his chest still heaving and his hair dishevelled.

"This is none of your fucking business, Zabini!" Potter said angrily, doing up his tie.

"You had no right to spy on us!"

"I wasn't spying. I was walking into a classroom, just like anybody else might. Just like somebody else  _will_ , one of these days, and when they do the shit will hit the fan and it will come down so hard you'll need a Protego spell just to keep it from flattening you both."

"I hate to break it to you," Pansy sneered, "but you're not actually a Seer, Blaise. You can't-"

"I don't need to be. I have a brain. And let me tell you, when you're found out, you're going to wish that curse had done you in." He registered Potter's sudden start of alarm and rolled his eyes impatiently. "No, I won't tell anyone. But Draco, don't think for one moment I'm going to support you if this comes out in the open."

"Right. Noted," said Draco, his voice clipped.

"Good."

There was an uncomfortable pause as Draco and Potter finished righting themselves and Pansy reflected that it was really too bad Potter had also cut his hair; it looked far scruffier short and messy than long and tied back. She waved a hand at their clothing. "You'll want to do a de-wrinkling charm or something on your clothes. You look rather... rumpled."

Draco glared at Blaise as he snickered.

"It's a good thing it's us who walked in on you," Pansy added. "You need to be more careful. God, can you imagine if it'd been Nott? Or whoever helped McKay set the bloody curse? Or even Crabbe or Goyle?"

Suddenly Draco and Blaise both chuckled and the tension in the room lessened a tad. "God, Goyle," Blaise smirked. "He'd be so bloody jealous, the poor git."

"Jealous?" said Potter. "Of what?"

"You two. Sex, in any form."

"Has he ever had a girlfriend?"

Blaise, Pansy and Draco gave him an odd look. "No, of course not," said Pansy.

"Why? He's not  _that_  bad."

The Slytherins exchanged an amused look, and Draco chuckled. "No, but he's queerer than a three-Knut coin, Harry."

"What??"

"Goyle's gay. Surely you knew that."

"Erm... no, I didn't."

"Oh, you're not actually - you are, you're blushing!" Blaise crowed.

"Well, I didn't know that... I mean-"

"Retroactively worried that Goyle was checking you out when you slept in our dorm?" Pansy smirked, and Potter blushed deeper.

"No, not really..."

"Worried that Goyle might make a pass at you now?" Blaise asked, and they were all now hooting with laughter at Harry's discomfort. "Don't worry - your politics aside, Goyle couldn't make a pass at another boy if he was glued to him with Stickum potion," he said scornfully. "He's gayer than fairy dust but shyer than a Bowtruckle."

"Really?"

"Really," said Pansy. "He looks like just a big stupid violent goon - which, to be fair, he is - but when it comes to boys he fancies, trust me on this, he's utterly helpless and hopeless."

"We should let Granger know it's all right to come in," Blaise pointed out. "And Weasley, he's probably here too."

Pansy went to the door, and sure enough, there were Weasley and Granger, both very, very red - though their embarrassment was nothing compared to Potter's as he realized why they were waiting outside and as Blaise took great pleasure in letting him know just how much Granger had seen.

"Oh come on, Granger," he scoffed as he finished. "It's nothing you didn't know was happening before."

"Knowing it and seeing it are two different things, mate," muttered Weasley, patting Granger's arm comfortingly.

"Word of advice, you two: you'll probably want to be a little more discreet," said Blaise. "Defence room right before a bunch of people were supposed to come in, with no wards or warning spells? Not terribly smart. Yes, I know, you probably weren't planning on anything happening, you got carried away, spare me the excuses. Have you tried your married quarters? I'd be surprised if anybody bothered to change the password."

Draco and Potter looked at each other, surprised.

"Or you could do the sensible thing and stay the fuck away from each other, but it's probably a lost cause for me to point that out. God, Draco. If your father finds out..." Blaise shook his head.

"Why, what exactly do you think Malfoy's father is likely to do?" Granger asked evenly.

"Draco's father's abusive," Blaise said bluntly, and even more bluntly said, "Draco they all saw your memories, and you're hardly in any position to tell me off right now, so shut up." Draco crossed his arms, clenching his jaw in resentful rage, both at Blaise's words and his attitude. "Yes, it's a dirty little secret in Slytherin, that Lucius Malfoy's tendency to be a sadistic bastard when he's crossed even extends to his own son."

"Blaise-" Pansy began.

"And from what I saw of Potter's memories, I'd say you're quite a pair, the two of you," Blaise said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "Two hurt little boys finding comfort in each other and all that rot. It's all very romantic and heart-warming, I'm sure, except that unlike those filthy Muggles you lived with, Potter, Draco's father's also got a lot of money and a long, long reach. As well as control of a family and a cause that Draco's not going to abandon just for a tumble. Are you?" He smiled mirthlessly as Draco's face remained carefully blank. "He's not going to leave the Malfoy millions or the Malfoy political stance for you, Potter, I don't care how brilliant you are when you're on your knees."

"You-" Potter began furiously, but stopped as Draco put a quelling hand on his arm and shook his head. Potter pressed his lips together, visibly struggling to keep himself under control.

"Listen, Draco," Blaise said, almost kindly, ignoring Potter altogether. "Get yourself reacquainted with reality. It's no sin to admit that some of the things your parents told you are wrong, and it's no sin in this day and age to be seen consorting with Muggle-borns and blood traitors. But this?"

Draco looked away from him, eyes still narrowed in resentment.

Blaise blew out his breath and pushed open the door to the corridor. "Excuse me. This is giving me heartburn. Not to mention I, unlike you, have a sense of self-preservation, and thus want nothing to do with this when it all goes balls-up."

Blaise left, and there was a heavy silence before Granger cleared her throat.

"Well," she said with grim determination. "Let's go over these vampire wards. I want us all to be able to set and disable all ten by Monday."

And they all flipped their books open, eager for the distraction.

**ooooooo**

**Day 145, Saturday**

Harry glanced around their room absently, stroking Draco's shoulder. This was far nicer than an unused classroom. As it was extremely unlikely that anybody would walk in on them, they'd been able to take things a little slower today and had actually gotten undressed, used the bed instead of the floor, a splintery chair, or the nearest wall, and were now just lying together holding each other and quietly talking about their day. He'd have to figure out who was responsible for changing portrait passwords in the castle, and send them an anonymous present for neglecting to change this one, because Sir Xander hadn't even blinked when they'd walked up and said Hades. He'd just welcomed them back and opened the door.

It was probably Filch's job. He'd best see if Honeydukes carried deluxe catnip.

This was so weird, though. If he didn't think too hard and ignored the bare walls and the fact that they couldn't stay the night, he could almost pretend they were back in time before the unbonding.

Although it wasn't just like their unbonding, he thought, frowning as he caught sight of an open copy of the Prophet that Draco had been reading when Harry had come in, and had left open once they'd gotten carried away greeting each other.

_Malfoy_ _: Cannot Trust Muggles, Need Leaders Not Afraid To Do What's Needed_

The headline wasn't on the front page, but it was certainly large and difficult to ignore, and he wished Draco hadn't brought it. They both caught each other looking at it, looked away, and then Harry suddenly decided he didn't particularly care for this careful silence they'd been cultivating ever since that confrontation with Blaise. He sat up, nodding towards the paper. "What do you think he means by that?" he said casually.

Draco shrugged.

"It sounds to me like he's slowly going back to pro-Voldemort rhetoric." He kept his eyes level as Draco inevitably flinched at the name. "He's switching sides, isn't he?"

"I don't really know."

"But you suspect."

Draco blew out his breath. "Yeah." He sat up too, running a hand through his hair, trying to look casual. "This isn't exactly a shock, I hope."

"No. Not really." Harry paused, his brain screaming at him to just shut up and not ask questions he didn't want answered. "What about you?"

"Harry..." Draco said softly.

"Are you switching sides as well?"

Draco stared at him, a host of emotions playing behind his eyes, and Harry reflected that even without the bond, he could still read Draco better than just about anybody else. Annoyance, defiance, hesitation... sorrow...

Draco cleared his throat. "I never really did. You know that."

Harry bit his lip. "So... what will you do, if it comes to a fight? Really kill for your side?"

"Would you kill for yours?"

"Yeah, in self defence. Your side's attacking us."

"Yours is attacking our way of life."

"You can still say that, after Hermione helped save your life."

"It's what I believe. It's what my family believes."

"Believe that people like Hermione deserve to be tortured and killed?" Draco hesitated, but his face was still set. "You're too smart for that. You're just mouthing the words, because that's what your father believes. And your father may be a smart man himself but for some reason he's got a blind spot as far as Voldemort and his cause are concerned."

"My father's a realist. The Dark Lord is powerful. He'll be killed if he-"

"Don't try to tell me your father only follows him out of fear."

"No, it's not just fear, but you can't ignore that the fear is there, and that there's a good reason for it."

Harry shook his head disbelief. "And yet you still support him. You're scared as hell of him, you know that he's a dangerous lunatic, and still-"

"He's right. About a lot of what he says. And he's got power - power that needs to be used for good."

"You're so bloody-"

"I believe in what my father believes, and we both support the Dark Lord, and you've known that all along. You can't - just because we're fucking each other again doesn't give you the right to tell me that what I believe is-"

"I'm not telling you anything-"

"Or ask me to change-"

"I've not asking you to-"

And then they were facing each other, and their voices were rising, and Harry kept thinking No, and Damn it, and Why can't I just keep my mouth shut, and This isn't going to go anywhere good, and I'm going to lose him...

He abruptly pulled himself short. "I'm - Draco. I..." He swallowed. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up."

"Maybe you shouldn't have."

"Things are different now, aren't they?"

"Goodness, Harry, what was your first clue?" Draco snapped.

Harry pushed down sudden anger. "I have to get to Quidditch practice," he muttered, and stood up, gathering his clothing and pulling it on, not looking at Draco as he got up and started dressing as well.

"See you," Draco said, starting out the door, and Harry was hit with an intense desire to not let him walk out without knowing whether or not he'd come back.

"Wait."

"What?" Draco said impatiently.

"Er... tomorrow?" he forced himself to ask casually, and Draco's lips tightened and his eyes narrowed but finally he gave a curt nod, then headed out the door.

**ooooooo**

**Day 147, Monday**

Draco stared into the fire in the Slytherin common room as Pansy stirred beside him and turned a page.

This couldn't continue. He was crazy. He was risking so damn much, for so damn little.

He and Harry were able to be together, yes. They were able to kiss, touch, have sex, and even spend a bit of time together, talking, mocking Zacharias Smith, venting out Draco's irritation at the Slytherin Quidditch Captain...

But Pansy and Blaise, and Weasley and Granger, were right; it was dangerous and stupid, what they were doing. There was no good way for it to end; they weren't going to be together forever, they couldn't be together in public at all, and they were almost sure to be found out at some point. The other day, that classroom had seemed safe; nobody was supposed to be there for at least twenty minutes, and it was in a little-used part of the school. But then Pansy had shown up early by coincidence, set a silencing spell on a whim, and just like that all of a sudden Blaise knew about them too.

Even being in their own room was dangerous. What if somebody got suspicious, followed them, set a tracking charm...

Even if nobody did, there was no future in this. Blaise was right. Draco was not ready to leave his family or his political ideals for The Boy Who Lived, no matter what wicked things The Boy Who Lived could do with his tongue. No matter how it set Draco on fire to touch him and be near him. No matter how good Draco felt when Harry laughed at his impressions of McGonagall and Filch, how much Harry's smile warmed him inside.

He sighed deeply. There was no future in this, which was why he'd been so pathetically eager to go back to him yesterday, even after their semi-fight on Saturday.

"About yesterday, I-I didn't mean to..." was all Potter had said by way of apology, after they'd spent a few uncomfortable moments trying to pretend that nothing had happened the day before.

And he'd been so relieved that Harry had broken first that he'd just nodded, mumbled something like, "It's all right, I'm sorry too," and gone on to snog him senseless.

It was like he had no fucking pride around Harry any more. No fucking sense, either.

"Darling, you'll want to stop making those noises," Pansy said absently, running her fingers through his hair.

"What noises?"

"The pathetic ones. The ones that say that you're deeply conflicted about something. Stop it."

He turned away from her impatiently.

"Did you two work out whatever it was that you were fighting about the other day?"

"What?" Pansy gave him an 'Oh please' look, and he blew out his breath in irritation. "How did you know we were fighting?"

"I have eyes. Speaking of eyes, you know Millicent brewed that new hangover potion? I went up to the Astronomy Tower to get some from her yesterday, you know she takes Astronomy, right? I spotted a telescope supposedly set up to observe Orion's rising."

"And?"

"Orion's apparently rising bloody close to the window of your old quarters. You'll want to keep the drapes drawn when you're in there."

Draco nodded wearily. What a hopeless idiot he was.

Pansy closed her book and tucked herself next to him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against her hair. She'd started acting slightly more girlfriendly than usual lately, which was rather nice. Not only was it comforting, it was also useful in terms of making it less likely for people to guess about him and Potter.

"What are you going to do, Draco, if anybody finds out?" she asked quietly. He stiffened slightly. "No, I'm not going to go into yet another tirade about why you should break it off with him before you get in serious trouble, though you should. I'm just asking."

"I don't know."

"Have you even thought about it?"

"No."

"Well, I have." She started picking at a loose thread on the couch. "For one thing, you'd have to say goodbye to Slytherin. You'd have no credibility here any more. If even Blaise won't stand with you, nobody will."

"Nobody?" he said quietly.

"I'd have to think of myself too, darling," she said gently.

He nodded glumly.

"And as for your father, Blaise is right, you should be afraid of him, he'd be furious if he found out."

"Pansy, don't." He wrenched himself away from her and she grabbed on to him, smiling tightly and catching his earlobe between her teeth, making a show for the other inhabitants of the common room.

"All right, I won't say anything else along that line, but settle yourself, please, this is important!" she whispered into his ear.

He settled back down grudgingly.

"And once you were out of Slytherin, and in deep shit with your father, you'd pretty much have to defect to the other side."

"I don't want to defect."

She took a deep breath. "Draco. Why not?"

"What?"

"Are you really that loyal to the Dark Lord?"

"Yes. Of course. Aren't you?"

She raised her head and looked at him seriously.

Draco swallowed hard. This was treason, what they were skirting around. It was one thing to talk about being on the other side by circumstance, or hedging your bets by cultivating allies among the Dark Lord's foes. This...

Pansy held his gaze for a long moment, then lay her head back on his shoulder and spoke quietly. "I'm loyal. You know that. But I can see why some people wouldn't be. He's powerful, but he's not all-powerful. And he's... he's a little scary. And your father showed that there is another path. There are plenty of people who don't believe in Dumbledore, who also don't believe in the Dark Lord."

"I don't want to be one of them."

"Because you'd have to leave your family?"

"Not just because of that."

Pansy nodded. "Well anyway, if you must defect, you know Potter's not a bad choice to run to. Other than the fact that the Dark Lord wants him dead, and you may very well get caught in the backlash."

"I already have been."

"You'd be risking that again."

"Don't remind me."

"I'm serious, though; it wouldn't be a bad choice, Draco, attaching yourself to the darling of the other side. And he's got a fair bit of money. Doesn't compare with Malfoy resources, but at least you'd be comfortable and not have to work for a living."

"Pansy, come on. I'm not going to 'attach' myself to Potter - I'm not married to him any more, I'm just-"

"Just getting him out of your system, yes, yes, I know. Potter might not feel the same way."

"And if he does?"

"I can't see him dropping you, no matter what. If you left your whole world behind because of him, and then he decided he didn't want you any more... can you really see him throwing you back out onto the mercy of your family and the Dark Lord?" Pansy scoffed. "Of course not. He'd protect you, out of duty and guilt, if nothing else. Look at how he is with Weasley. That stupid boy was the first real friend Potter ever had, and he's still loyal to him, even though he's got scads more money and connections and power and could be friends with far better people. He'd do the same for you."

"That's attractive. Me and Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's charity cases for life."

Pansy snickered.

"Why are you talking about all of this now?" he asked her curiously.

She pursed her lips, gazing at the fire. "It's seventh year. I'm studying for NEWTs. It's just... it's struck me, that it's February, and in four months, we're leaving."

"And?"

"And I was thinking about how you'd be a pariah at Slytherin House if you were found out, and then I thought well, it would different if you still had to live in Slytherin for another year, but... we're leaving in just a few months. School isn't forever. Slytherin isn't forever." She trailed off, absently setting a simple charm on the fireplace so that the flames looked like snakes and dragons. "And like I said before, if it all goes balls-up with the Dark Lord, I'd like to have an 'in' inside the other camp. I wouldn't be able to associate with you in public, of course, but..."

Draco gazed at the charmed fire thoughtfully.

She hesitated for a moment, then added quietly "The other thing I keep thinking these days is... you look happy."

"What?"

"You look... you're good together."

"We are not good together," Draco said brusquely. "We're stupid together. Don't go soft-headed on me."

"I've no idea why, but he makes you happy. A damned sight happier than I've ever seen you before."

Draco glared at her and Pansy sighed. "No, darling, I'm not going soft-headed on you. Just rambling. Pay me no mind." She sighed again. "Hopefully all this is just talk, and will remain so. I keep hoping you'll come to your senses and break it off with him before you're forced to make any sort of decision."

"Yeah," Draco said wryly. "Me too."

**ooooooo**

**Day 152, Saturday**

"Now what?" Draco said irritably as Pansy gasped. He glanced over Pansy's shoulder at the paper she'd just opened, and felt his heart stop.

Front page. Again. He automatically looked up and met Harry's wide green eyes. It felt like there was no sound or movement whatsoever in the Great Hall, even though he could hear shocked whispers and some giggles and gasps and even a few catcalls and wolf whistles, and eddies of stunned disbelief and delighted, wide-awake malice swirled around him at the Slytherin table as Pansy's hand slipped into his.

The couple on the front page had finished kissing, more tenderly than he would have ever thought, and they were laughing together, the lighter one's hand on the darker one's cheek, and whoever had taken the picture had managed to capture, from quite a distance and through a window, the friendship and caring between them. The way the one teased and the other rolled his eyes in good natured annoyance before shutting him up with another kiss.

Pansy's hand had tightened on Draco's as they both stared at the picture and a part of Draco's brain vaguely registered a few words around it. "A Bond Renewed?," rumours confirmed, Convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, no comment about his son's-

"All right, Draco, here's how I see it," Pansy said quietly. "You have two choices: you can leave in a dignified way - erm, scratch that, you look like you're about to toss your breakfast - either leave the Great Hall as quickly as possible and get a hold of yourself outside, or just look at Potter calmly and let him know you'll see him after you've finished eating. Trust me?"

He nodded numbly.

"Stay. Everyone can see that you're upset, no surprise there, but they'll also see that you will  _not_  be intimidated." She looked up and paled visibly. "Oh, god, and. Prepare for a Howler."

"What?"

She pointed up and Draco stopped breathing. There was Father's owl, gracefully coming in for a landing, a red letter in its beak.

It landed, and they all gaped at it. Malfoys didn't get Howlers. Howlers were for Weasleys.

"Open it, Draco," Pansy said under her breath. "Don't hesitate. Just pretend this is all happening to somebody else."

Draco swallowed hard, unable to make himself move.

"If your father ever forgives you he'll be pleased that you showed some backbone. If he doesn't, you'll need all the backbone you can get."

He schooled his face into expressionlessness, reached out and tore open the top, making himself ignore his shaking hands.

The Howler opened up, but didn't mould itself into a mouth or screech like other Howlers he'd seen over the years. The letter retained the appearance of a simple parchment, and the voice, though pitched to reach the ears of every person in the Great Hall, was low and precise and steady. Father at his most dangerous.

 _"Draco, you are the first Malfoy in over a century to receive a Howler, the only Malfoy in over a century to deserve one. You have been a grave disappointment to me many times in the past, but I have never been as ashamed of you as I am now. You are a disgrace to our name and family. Accordingly, I have just concluded a meeting with our family solicitor to legally disown you. Your inheritance will be held in trust until a suitable heir can be found from amongst our relatives, and your name shall be stricken from our family records. You will no longer have permission to use our name or the family's signet ring-"_ Draco suddenly felt a flare of pain on his hand and hastily removed the ring, dropping it onto the table and watching it roll away and fall to the floor, almost in slow motion, as Father's voice went on.  _"Out of consideration for your mother's soft-heartedness, I will allow you an audience in two days so that you can plead your case to be allowed to return to our family. Do not expect to succeed."_

Crabbe and Goyle were a faint green colour, and looking away miserably. Blaise gave him a hard stare, then turned away.

 _"Were I able to snap your wand in half from a distance, I would do so,"_  Father's voice continued dispassionately.  _"As I cannot, I shall simply hope that somebody at Hogwarts does our family the great service of doing it for us. I shall add that if anybody wishes to discipline you for the disgrace you have brought upon the Malfoy family and Slytherin House, they are quite welcome to do so, and have my oath that they will receive no retribution from our family, whether you succeed in returning to the family or not."_

Draco clenched his jaw, refusing to give voice to the terror starting to claw at him. No family, no name, no protection, and an open invitation to anybody who wished to hurt him.

_"As of this moment, you are no longer my son."_

The letter shimmered for a moment, then flared and turned into ashes, dropping in a heap onto the table before him. There was a long silence.

"Well. He doesn't mince words, does he?" Pansy said, and casually buttered a piece of toast with only slightly trembling hands. "All right, forget meeting with Potter right now. Finish your breakfast, and then we'll go to the library."

"Are you sure?" he asked, shakily finding his voice. "What about me being in disgrace?"

"Tosh. You've got two days to convince him to take you back." She picked up the paper. "Drink up your juice, darling. Oh my goodness, Draco," she said, staring at the picture. "I must say, if you ever kissed me like that, I might be tempted to risk being disowned too." She paused. "Either one of you, as a matter of fact. Good heavens."

Draco shivered, unable even to nod or smile. She put her hand on his arm comfortingly and leaned close. "Darling, I hope you know that for this, you will owe me for the rest of your life," she murmured into his ear.

He nodded.

"Drink up your juice, dear." She placed his glass in his hand and glanced back at the paper. "Good lord, Celestina Warbeck's back in the news again. Doesn't that woman ever stay with a man longer than a month?"

Draco closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Pansy's valiant attempt at small talk, attempting simultaneously to ignore the voices around the Hall getting louder and more animated, the echo of his father's cold voice, and the ugly air of menace growing at the Slytherin table. He looked up at the Head Table as a soft cough silenced the Hall and all attention was fixed on Dumbledore.

"If I may make a comment," Dumbledore said mildly. "I would like to remind all of you that every student here is under the protection of the school. Any persons contemplating harming a student under the misapprehension that they will suffer no consequences for that act should be aware that, whether or not they have to answer to that student's family, they will have to answer to me."

There was a brief pause. Then, from the Gryffindor table, a firm voice added, "And to me."


	19. February 27 - March 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my betas, Kyllikki and Jérémie.

**Day 152, Saturday, continued**

"Oh my god," Harry breathed as he rushed into the hospital wing at lunchtime, Hermione and Ron at his heels. Draco was sitting up on one of the beds, Pansy by his side, his left arm in a sling, a bandage across one cheek, his lower lip split. God, this was worse than he'd thought - all he'd heard was that there had been a "scuffle" and that Draco was in the hospital.

Draco smiled dryly at him. "You should see the other fellow," he quipped.

Harry shook his head, horrified, and hesitantly reached for his hand, not knowing whether Draco would accept a public display of affection or not. Knowing only that whoever had done this to Draco would have to be scraped off the walls after Harry was done with him.

"No, really, you should see the other fellow," Pansy said heavily, as Draco took Harry's hand and motioned him into the chair closest to him, opposite from Pansy.

"Who did this?" Hermione asked quietly, coming to stand next to Pansy.

"Goyle," said Pansy.

"What??" Harry exclaimed in angry disbelief as Ron swore volubly behind him.

"Oh stand down, you dolts," Draco said tiredly. "It's not what you think."

"He was a blubbering mess by the time he was done, too," said Pansy, shaking her head. "Poor Goyle."

"Erm... what?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Pansy asked him to," Zabini said, approaching the bed and standing next to Ron with his arms crossed. "And she had a time trying to explain in words small enough for him to understand."

The Gryffindors gaped at each other in complete bewilderment.

"My father drew a target on my back with that fucking Howler," Draco said impatiently. "I wasn't safe going back to Slytherin-"

"Then why the hell didn't you come to Gryffindor with me?" Harry asked, exasperated. "I told you after breakfast that-"

"Shut up, please, it hurts to talk and I'd rather not waste my time shushing you. Yes, you offered, but as I believe I told you, I couldn't run away from Slytherin just like that. Because then even if my father ever took me back into the family again, I'd be branded a spineless coward. So Pansy asked Goyle to beat me badly enough to get me admitted here, without causing permanent damage. He did a good job of it, too - no broken nose or black eyes, just a couple of ribs cracked, and my arm broken and the split lip."

"You're mental, the lot of you," Ron said faintly.

"Maybe, but I'm also safe in the infirmary, with not nearly as much loss of face as if I'd just ducked out before anything happened. And Goyle got to help out a friend, and he'll still have both my father's approval and his. Not a bad deal all around."

"Completely mental."

"You know, after having Goyle sobbing and dripping snot on my tie for the last twenty minutes, I'm not sure this was such a good deal all around, myself," Zabini said tightly.

"He'll get over it," Pansy said indifferently. "And hopefully this'll also help when Draco goes to see his father." Zabini gave a snort of derision but didn't interrupt. "It might make Lucius feel Draco's already been punished enough. Or, even better, make him feel guilty for having put Draco in a position to get hurt in the first place."

Draco smiled cynically. "He might also tell me he's going to hand over the family business to me and take up Hinkypunk-herding, but I'm not counting on that either, Pansy."

"You're going to see your father?" Ron asked sceptically. "After he disowned you in public like that?"

"What would you suggest, Weasley?" Draco asked.

"I wouldn't go back to him, that's for sure. If my parents ever did anything like that to me, I'd... I'd-"

"You'd what? Run to one of your dozens of brothers?" he sneered. "Or one of your hundreds of other freckled relatives, or some do-gooder friend of Dumbledore's? I've nowhere else to go," he said bitterly. "There's no relatives that'll take me in, and any family friends will just do whatever my father says."

"So stand on your own," Hermione said brusquely. "Get away from your bloody family."

"And do what, exactly? Blood Magic issues aside, I haven't got a Sickle to my name. I don't even  _have_  a name."

"Why, what's your father going to do if you use the family name?" Harry said angrily. "Disown you again?"

Draco rolled his eyes in irritation as Zabini and Pansy made impatient faces.

"He wouldn't have to," Ron said heavily. "Sometimes that's part of a wizarding Disinheritance. He really doesn't have a last name." Hermione and Harry looked at him blankly. "Give it a try. Try to call him anything but Draco; you can't."

Hermione's mouth worked for a moment and she looked horrified.

"Your father's a sick fuck, Draco," Ron said.

"For once I'm not arguing."

"He won't forgive you."

"You're an expert on my father, then?" Draco said coldly.

"He doesn't have to be," Zabini said. "I told you this would happen. I told you-"

"Yes, thanks, you told me so. You can go now. You said you'd not support me if my father found out, well he's found out, now kindly piss off."

"Oh, don't worry, I will-"

"Blaise, shut up," Pansy interrupted him. "The last thing he needs is your tender concern right now, idiot that he is." She turned to Draco. "D'you think your mother'll disown you too?"

Draco shrugged. "I haven't a clue. She... I don't know. She doesn't like to defy Father."

"Well, maybe she'll at least give you your Black inheritance, let you use her last name."

"And if not, why don't you use Potter's," Zabini said scornfully. "He doesn't appear to be doing anything useful with it."

Draco opened his mouth for a cutting retort, then glanced at Hermione as she made a small choking sound and bit her lip. His brow furrowed slightly, then abruptly a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Hermione made a strangled sound, covering her mouth, and then all of a sudden Draco burst out laughing, and Hermione joined in.

"What?" Pansy asked, annoyed.

"Draco  _Potter?_ " Draco choked out, and then Harry was joining in, not really getting what was so funny about it other than the sight of Draco and Hermione sharing a laugh was too ridiculous for words.

"God, can you picture your father's face-" Pansy began, collapsing into giggles as the rest of them broke down too.

Pomfrey poked her face around the corner at the noise, rather bewildered by the sight of all of them holding their sides, but soon ducked back into her office.

"What Blood Magic issues?" Harry asked curiously, once they had settled somewhat, hoping he wasn't showing extreme ignorance of wizarding traditions yet again.

"You probably wouldn't know this, but it can be rather serious, being without a family in the wizarding world," Pansy said, and managed to not be as condescending as she could have. "Without a name or family behind you, there's some magic that doesn't work, some protections that aren't there. It's not just a matter of pride, belonging to the right sort of family. It's having some sort of family tie, by blood or marriage, to somebody. Anybody. If his father and mother both reject him and repudiate their blood ties, that'll make him vulnerable to all sorts of people, and all sorts of Dark Magic."

Harry thought of the magical protection he'd had from his mother's sister during his childhood, and nodded in understanding. It made a certain sense, that relatives would provide protection more than just in his particular case.

"And frankly," said Draco, "I don't fancy going up against Nott, and Queenie, and their families, and whoever helped put the curse on us in the first place, alone. Walking around with a target on my back forever isn't terribly attractive."

"Seriously, even Draco Potter would be better than Draco Nothing," Zabini said. "No offence, Potter."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "You know, it's not that bad a solution," he said slowly.

"What?"

"I'll bloody well marry you again, if that'll keep you safe. We can always dissolve it later."

The others gaped at him and Draco scowled. "Oh, is that how Gryffindors do marriage proposals? It's really sweeping me off my feet, Harry."

"No, it's Goyle who did that," Zabini said curtly. "And don't be so quick to say no."

"What??"

"Your father's going to kill you. Or worse. Draco, you chose  _Potter_  over him."

"No I didn't."

"Your father thinks you did. Do you think if you crawl back to him he'll take you back into the fold?" He glared at Draco. "You know he's back in good graces with the Dark Lord. You know that. If you go to the Manor, your father will hand you over to the Dark Lord. And god only help you then."

Hermione paled. "That's-"

"That's life," Zabini said harshly. "Family ties aren't always as strong as we'd like to think. People who love each other betray or kill each other off all the time, Draco. Your father certainly wouldn't be the first. You might want to think about that before you go see him. Think about whether you're crawling back to humiliation or death."

"He'd never-"

"He swore a wizard's oath that anybody who wanted to punish you could do so with impunity," Zabini said, exasperated. "Nott, or Queenie, or Edgars or Archer or all of them together, could've  _literally_  killed you, and your father was oath-bound to do nothing in return. Do you really think he'd hesitate to hand you over to the Dark Lord?"

Draco swallowed hard.

"Draco, he didn't even want to join in the healing circle to save your life," Zabini said gently, sitting on the bed. "Weasley almost burst a blood vessel trying to pull him in."

Draco looked away, his hand tightening painfully on Harry's. He took a deep breath. "He came in eventually."

"How long are you going to make excuses for him? He's a dangerous, abusive-"

Draco's head snapped up and he glared at Zabini. "He's never once-"

"Never once laid a hand on you, yes, we know. He's never had to; he's always been able to do damage enough without lifting a finger. You've always been terrified of him, and for good reason. He's mentally unbalanced, you idiot. Defying him for the sake of a shag was about as astute as insulting a hippogriff because you're bored."

"And your mother's a paragon of sanity, is she?" Draco sneered.

"My mother has a few bats in her belfry too, but unlike you I'm not fool enough to ever forget that." Zabini shook his head in disgust. "If you want my opinion, going back to your father would be far stupider than accepting Potter's gracious hand in marriage." He stood up. "Either way, I'm not in your corner. You made your hospital bed. Lie in it." He stalked off.

Ron and Hermione stared after him, open-mouthed.

"Close your mouths," Pansy said coldly.

"Is that what you meant?" Hermione said shakily. "When you were lecturing me on Slytherin loyalt-"

Pansy rounded on her in fury. "Shut  _up_! Sanctimonious Mudblood  _bitch_!!" Ron opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but Pansy gave them both a scathing look and continued. "Blaise's mother has probably killed more wizards than all the Colonial witch hunts put together. And he still helped with Goyle, and he promised not to tell anybody that whole thing was staged, and then he came here - d'you have any idea what his mother would do to him if she found out he was associating with Draco for one minute after he was disgraced?? No, you don't. You don't bother to think. It's so much easier to just sit there and feel superior to him."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. There was a long silence.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Hermione finally said. "I didn't know." Pansy gave her a slightly startled look, and Hermione cleared her throat. "What about you? Won't your family care that you're still here?"

Pansy shrugged. "My family's probably going to be bloody furious with me. But since my father's a real father and not a gibbering lunatic and Draco please if you're going to defend your father again kindly do it where I won't have to toss up my lunch on you, there's a good boy - that only means I won't have to look forward to much of a birthday present next month. I'll handle it."

Draco gave her a small smile. "My father's always said yours was too soft on you."

"Coming from him, that's a compliment. Still, I shouldn't push my dad too much, so I'll be off now." She leaned over and brushed Draco's hair off his forehead. "Listen love, you've been a complete prat and if it weren't for the fact that you're just too tall, I would've been quite happy to beat you to a pulp myself and spare Goyle the heartache. But you've been through enough so I'll leave you with your... friends, to decide what you're going to do. Think it over seriously. I still think you should give your father a chance, but Blaise may have a point. I'll be rather put out if he's right."

She gave him a kiss on the forehead, careful to not touch any of his injuries. She stepped back from the bed, turned to leave - then at the last moment turned back, stepped up to Harry's chair, and slapped him, hard, across the face.

"If I were half an inch taller, you'd be looking like  _him_ ," she hissed viciously, her furious face only inches from Harry's. " _You_  didn't have anything to lose. If you cared one Sickle for him, you'd've thought of the consequences instead of following your prick wherever it led you." She straightened up and stalked out of the room.

Hermione and Ron stared after her and Harry held a hand to his cheek, his face burning.

"Bitch," Ron muttered.

Hermione shook her head. "Ron. She's right."

"What??" Ron gaped at her.

"Harry should've known better. I'm sorry, but she's right, Harry. You should have." Harry looked away from her miserably, and Draco squeezed his hand.

"Come on, Harry," Ron protested, "he knew what he was doing, you can't blame yourself for-"

"Ron, not right now, all right?" Harry broke in, unable to face any of them. "Why don't... why don't you go and I'll stay here for a while."

They left, and there was a long pause before Harry said, shamefaced, "She's right."

"So's Weasley," Draco said quietly. "I knew what I was risking."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. God, I... I'm so sorry," Harry repeated hollowly. What else could he possibly say? Sorry I put you in danger. Sorry I ruined your life. Sorry I was too bloody selfish and too ruled by my dick to think about your safety and well-being for even a moment.

"Are you... d'you want me to stay?" he asked hesitantly, making himself meet Draco's eyes. "You're supposed to... I mean, d'you think your father can tell if I'm near you, or-"

"I don't care."

"Draco-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my father right now, Harry," Draco said tiredly. "I don't want to think about him."

"Not thinking about him is what got you here," Harry pointed out.

"I don't care," Draco whispered, and Harry sensed his anguish like a physical presence. He sat for a moment, trying to think of what Draco might need, what might help. Weighed the consequences of staying and possibly angering Lucius more, versus leaving and making Draco face what had happened to him all alone. Tried not to think of what he wanted, and concentrate on what would be best for Draco.

"Here, shove over," he finally said, and Draco moved aside on the bed. Harry climbed up, and they both shifted down a bit till they were lying side by side, facing each other, as they'd done so many times since the end of September.

Harry took a deep breath, taking Draco's hand in his again. "If you go, and he forgives you, we can't see each other any more. You know that, right?"

"Harry, please. I'm going home on Sunday, I'll have plenty of time to think about what it means and what to say, I'd really rather not think about it right now."

"Will you be in the hospital till you go, then?"

"Yeah. Pomfrey said I shouldn't be moved. Said I took some internal damage-"

"Oh my god - you said-"

"-and she's a bloody pathetic liar, but I'll gladly go along if it keeps me out of Slytherin." Draco gave him a small smile. "Don't look like that. I don't feel very good right now, but Blaise did a pretty deep pain-blocking spell before Goyle started. I didn't actually feel much while he was kicking the shit out of me."

Harry swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Draco shifted and pulled him closer, motioning to Harry to rest his head on Draco's unhurt shoulder, and Harry reflected miserably that he wasn't doing much good; he was supposed to be comforting Draco, but instead Draco was comforting him.

They lay in silence for a few moments, Draco running his hand over Harry's hair idly.

"Why did you cut it?" Draco asked curiously after a few minutes.

Harry smiled. "Just doing my part to uphold wizarding tradition."

"You should've kept it long. It suited you better."

"Not married any more, remember?"

"Not all wizarding traditions deserve to be upheld," Draco said softly.

"You'll probably want to not say that to your father."

"I might," Draco said. "It might not make any difference."

There was a long pause. "Draco... don't go," Harry said softly.

Draco took a deep breath, shook his head. "I have to. I have to at least say goodbye to my mother."

"But-"

"Harry, I have to. Don't - let's not talk about it any more."

**ooooooo**

**Day 154, Monday (dawn)**

Ron woke up suddenly, tying to pin down what had woken him up.

Retching. Somebody was throwing up in the washroom.

He glanced at Harry's bed. Empty. "Harry?"

No answer, just more retching sounds. Ron got up, padded to the washroom. "Harry? You all right?"

"Yeah." Harry emerged unsteadily from a cubicle, looking shaken and wiping his mouth.

"You're not. I told you that was too much firewhiskey."

"Yeah, thanks, Ron." Harry went to the sink, rinsed out his mouth with a grimace.

Ron winced at his grey features and unsteadiness. Harry had been looking distinctly off ever since Draco had left for Malfoy Manor, and Seamus had come up with a patented Seamus solution and challenged Harry to a drinking contest to drown his worries away. Not having nearly as much experience with firewhiskey as Seamus did, he was certainly suffering for it now. "I think Seamus has some of Bulstrode's new hangover potion in his-"

"Not sure I could keep it down yet-" Harry suddenly disappeared into the cubicle and Ron heard him being sick again.

"Better out than in," Ron said as Harry re-emerged.

"Nothing left to come out," Harry said weakly, rubbing his forehead.

"Headache too?" Ron said sympathetically. Harry nodded.

"How long have you been up?"

"About half an hour."

"You woke up spewing?"

"Nightmare."

"What about?"

Harry shrugged.

"You're worried about Draco, aren't you?" Ron asked, seriously creeped out that he couldn't even think of Draco's former last name, let alone say it.

"Yeah."

"You know, Parkinson didn't seem to think he'd be in that much danger. And she knows his father better than Zabini does."

"I know. It's just... Zabini's right, Draco's father's unbalanced."

Ron looked at Harry closely. "You're not still thinking about what Parkinson said, are you?"

"She was right."

"No she wasn't. He's an adult, he knew what he was risking."

"I pushed him, though. He was... he was hesitating, and I kind of... pushed him. I should've backed off."

"He's not some fair damsel you seduced, Harry," Ron said firmly. "It was still his choice."

"It wasn't fair. I knew how he was feeling, and I used that against him, and I shouldn't have."

"Well, it's done now. And who knows, it might turn out all right in the end. If his father doesn't forgive him... well, you won't have to worry about him being on the wrong side any more."

"He doesn't want to switch sides, Ron."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"And you still want to be with him?" Ron asked sceptically.

"He's just got different beliefs. They're horrible, but they're not against the law."

"You'll want to not let Hermione hear you say that."

Harry groaned. "I know. It's awful, what he thinks of Muggles and Muggle-borns. It drives me crazy. Never mind the fact that one of my best friends is Muggle-born - my  _mother_  was Muggle-born, and the lunatic he wants to follow killed her, but I'm still..." He pressed his lips together. Took a deep breath. "And the other thing is, he's smart. Part of me just can't accept that he actually believes any of that rubbish."

"But you still..."

"I know. It's just... after seeing what his dad's like, can you blame him for not wanting to even think anything different from what his father wants him to? His father disowned him for dating the wrong person. What would he do if he believed the wrong things?"

Ron nodded, then peered at him in concern. "You still look ruddy awful."

"Yeah," Harry scrubbed at his face with his hand. "Still feel awful."

"Here, let's get Seamus' potion. I think I've got some of that sleeping potion Hermione made last term too. You're not going to do him any good staying up all night worrying about him. You might as well try to get some sleep."

**ooooooo**

**Day 154, Monday (evening)**

Harry looked up from picking at his supper as the door opened and the noise level in the Great Hall dipped, then rose sharply as Draco quietly walked in. He made his way to the Slytherin table without ceremony, without meeting anyone's eyes, but not as though he were nervous, or ashamed, or anything other than deep in thought and a little tired. A buzz began at the Ravenclaw table and spread through the hall: Draco Malfoy was wearing his family's signet ring again. And with that came a realization: Draco Malfoy could be addressed as such again.

He'd been forgiven.

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, honestly not able to figure out what he felt about that. Relief, certainly. Zabini's words had left him thoroughly chilled, and a huge part of him had honestly wondered, in the horror of last night, if he was ever going to see Draco again. Having experienced Lucius Malfoy's fury first hand...

But he'd been forgiven. What could that possibly mean?

Harry realized he was staring, but it didn't matter, because everybody was staring, hundreds of eyes glued to the pale boy taking his place at the Slytherin table and picking up a fork, briefly nodding at his table mates. Pansy turned to him, putting her arms around him, and he gave her a quick hug back. She asked him something, and he shook his head, making a "later" sign.

He looked up and met Harry's eyes, and Harry felt paralysed. No idea what to expect. Distance? Regret? Coldness? Certainly not what he actually got, which was a small nod and a mouthed "After supper?" He nodded back, somewhat stunned, as another buzz went around the hall.

Draco had just been through god only knew what for associating with Harry. And now he was just nonchalantly letting him know they'd be getting together later? In the middle of supper in the Great Hall?

Harry went back to his meal, utterly bewildered.

**ooooooo**

Harry looked up as the door to their quarters opened and Draco came in, looking relieved to see Harry there. No less relieved than Harry, who hadn't been sure where Draco had wanted to meet but had figured he wouldn't want it to be anywhere public. Apparently, he'd guessed right.

He started to get up, only to be waved back into his seat by Draco, who sank down next to him, tiredly laying his head against the back of the couch.

"Erm... did anybody see you coming here?" Harry said nervously. "Because I, er, I made sure nobody saw me, but-"

Draco waved him to silence impatiently.

"How... how are you?" Harry asked cautiously.

Draco shrugged.

"I take it your father took you back."

Draco nodded.

"It was all a bluff, then?" Draco shook his head, and Harry frowned. "Can you say anything?" he asked, a little impatiently.

Draco turned his head and met Harry's eyes, something indefinable in glimmering in the depths of his own. He gave Harry a small smile, cleared his throat. "Not... much, no," he said, his voice very quiet, almost a whisper.

"What - what happened?"

"He... I had to prove myself," he said softly, his voice rough, and Harry had to lean close to hear him. "Show that I was willing to sacrifice for our family. Willing to endure pain."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, his own voice hushed, dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Well... you know how the Dark Lord makes people show their loyalty. It... hurts. A lot."

Harry's heart stopped. "You're not... Marked," he said in a horrified whisper.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be thick. The Mark's an honour, not a punishment. The Dark Lord wouldn't give that honour to somebody's who's been sleeping with his enemy, would he?"

"Then what..."

Draco hesitated for a moment, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, pulling it down a little.

Harry sucked in his breath. There, beneath Draco's right collarbone, was a stylized Malfoy crest in inky black, the skin around it an angry red.

"God. My god, Draco. Your dad did that to you?"

"Just like a Dark Mark, except tuned to Father instead of the Dark Lord. It'll call me to his side whenever he wants, and hurt like hell if I ignore it."

Harry couldn't speak. He reached out tentatively, touched the skin around the mark carefully. Draco drew in his breath but was otherwise still. "He put it on the same way Voldemort does, didn't he?" Harry realized too late that he'd said Voldemort's name and started to apologize, but Draco merely nodded.

Harry shuddered, remembering Lucius and Snape's agonized shrieks from his memories of the healing circle. That Lucius could turn around and do the same thing to his own son...

"It's all right," Draco said. "I got off pretty lightly, considering."

"How could he force you to-"

Draco shook his head. "A Mark's never done involuntarily. I chose it."

"You didn't know what you were choosing though, you didn't know how painful it would be-"

"Not before he started. But the reason the Dark Mark shows loyalty is that... well, everyone screams, though he said I broke before most. But the Dark Lord always stops halfway through, and the test of your loyalty is in whether you choose to go on or not." He cleared his throat. "I did."

Harry drew in his breath shakily, totally appalled. "How could you-"

"Didn't have much choice," Draco said roughly, and Harry winced. He must have screamed himself hoarse, and he'd still, when given the chance, chosen more pain over remaining cut off from his family.

He pushed that thought away. What was done was done. He took a deep breath. "Aren't you... I mean, aren't you afraid to be seen with me, what if-"

Draco gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. "I could probably shag you on the Quidditch pitch and I doubt he'd do much. I've shown where my loyalty lies. And if I'm wrong..." He shrugged carelessly. "I don't much care."

"But-"

"Seriously, I don't give a shit. Yeah, I know, everybody saw me tell you we'd be meeting later today. For all they know we could be meeting about our schoolwork. That's what I'll tell anyone who asks, anyway," he said offhandedly, and lay his head back against the couch.

Harry frowned. This wasn't like Draco at all. Draco was never this reckless. "Does... does the mark still hurt?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

Draco shrugged. "Not much," he said, and Harry hesitantly reached for his hand, remembering how Draco had welcomed that comfort in the hospital wing after Goyle had sent him there. Surprised when Draco not only allowed the touch, but pulled him closer and kissed him.

"Draco-" Harry broke off slightly, "are you-"

"Shut up," Draco said roughly, kissing him again, and Harry followed his lead for a few moments. Gently pushed Draco away again after he inadvertently touched the mark and Draco hissed in pain.

"No. No, I don't think you're in any shape to - here," Harry said awkwardly, gently turning Draco away and then pulling him back so that he was nestled against Harry's chest with Harry's arms loosely clasped around him. "Just sit. All right? Just... just sit."

And Draco, after a startled moment, sighed and relaxed against him and closed his eyes.

**ooooooo**

**Day 160, Sunday**

Draco gazed at the wall blankly as Harry shifted a little, briefly letting go of his waist before settling back against him, holding him close as they lay spooned together. He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to slow down and concentrate only on this.

This kind of thing was happening a lot lately. Since the day he'd come back and had ended up simply resting against Harry's shoulder for an hour, the silence a soothing balm for his raw and jagged emotions, they'd fallen into the habit of, whenever they could, shagging and then holding each other for a long time afterwards.

For some reason today it didn't seem quite so soothing. Probably because random unwelcome thoughts kept intruding into the peace of their embrace.

Thoughts like how fucking insane he was for doing this.

Thoughts like how Pansy and Granger and Weasley were about to disintegrate from sheer nerves, and Harry wasn't far behind, because there had been a few too many close calls in the week since he'd come back. McGonagall had almost walked in on them in her classroom - which, had it happened, just might have put him off sex for life. Harry had almost gone into the Great Hall with a rather noticeable love bite on his neck, which Granger had whisked off at the last moment. And only Ginny Weasley's very quick thinking had prevented the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team from walking in on them at the Quidditch hut.

Thoughts like how he didn't give a damn.

Thoughts like how hard he'd screamed, how much he'd wanted to die while his father, perfectly calm, was burning the crest onto him.

Like how he'd opened his eyes at one point and caught real regret in his father's eyes for half a second, but even that hadn't stopped him, and Draco didn't know whether that was better or worse than thinking his father had felt nothing.

His father had said afterwards that it was for his own good. Handed him back his wand and signet ring and told him suffering built character before dismissing him peremptorily and letting him stumble to his room, to throw up and shake and curl into a fetal position and cry until he couldn't feel anything any more.

He closed his eyes and tried to think only of the warmth of Harry's body against his back, Harry's arms around him.

And tried not to think about how ashamed he'd felt, being made to sit, for an hour and a half, in silence in the study, listening to Father write and dictate letters, before he abruptly said "Come here," and began Draco's punishment. Telling him, in great detail, just why he was such a disappointment - never good enough, never smart enough, letting Granger best him in grades, letting Potter best him at Quidditch, letting Goyle beat him to a pulp. Not good enough to be a Malfoy. Not good enough to be Lucius' son. A disappointment, his entire life.

Business as usual, in other words. Nothing new, he'd been hearing that kind of thing for as long as he could remember.

It was a little different hearing it from the other side of the Great Disowning Threat, though. Where before he'd often alternated between terrified, angry, and occasionally bored that the same old menace was being trotted out, now he knew full well what it meant.

Harry gently kissed the back of his neck.

It meant no name. No family. It meant exposure and humiliation in front of the entire school. It meant being grateful to Greg Goyle for sending him in the hospital. It meant fear for his own safety, and despair, and not knowing whether he'd ever see his room again, the Malfoy Manor grounds, the pond he'd played in as a child. Whether he'd ever belong in the hall of their ancestors. Whether he'd ever again speak to that great-great-aunt in the green kerchief who'd been a famous birthing-witch during the Renaissance, or the young boy who'd gone to Durmstrang in the last century, or Phineas Black.

It meant knowing even Ronald Weasley had more money than him. Knowing he had absolutely nothing.

It meant listening to the same old words with a brand new fear, listening while trying desperately not to break down, yet curiously numb too.

He sighed as Harry's fingers idly caressed his bare chest.

It meant saying yes, unhesitatingly, when Father asked whether he would be willing to do penance to return to the family. Saying yes with relief, not caring what that penance was, as long as he had a chance of belonging again.

It meant saying yes again unhesitatingly after Father had explained said penance, saying yes again despite the echoes of Father's own remembered screams of pain.

He put a hand over Harry's as it went lower, to his stomach.

It meant screaming until he had no voice left, then being freed from the pain, looking down and seeing that the mark wasn't completed, and whispering yes again. Because the alternative was more terrifying than any pain.

It meant, in the ensuing week, feeling like he didn't give a shit whether he had to do it all over again.

He smiled as Harry's hand went lower and he felt that subtle shift within both of them, that segue from innocent embrace to the beginnings of arousal.

It meant he didn't give a shit even though Pansy had cried as he told her what his father had done, though he hadn't shown her. Would never show anybody but Harry. Who kind of deserved to know, for good and bad.

He dropped his head back, letting Harry's lips brush against the side of his neck.

It meant Blaise still not looking at him. Crabbe and Goyle not speaking to him. In all of Slytherin, nobody but Pansy saying a word to him, ever since he'd come back. None of them knew what to do with him; a Malfoy again, but a Malfoy still in deep disgrace. He was a non-entity, and was glad to be that, and mostly stayed in his room or in the library, or with Harry.

With Harry, who was ever so gently stroking him into hardness while his lips continued to caress his neck, his earlobe.

With Harry's worries, his ineffectual protests.

With Harry's breath warm against his, hands caressing him, body hard and hot against his in unused classrooms, storage areas, the Room of Requirement, and occasionally in their old quarters - like right now.

With even Sir Xander giving him strange looks some days, like today, when he arrived at their room without bothering to use any but the most minimal concealment spells.

And he didn't give a damn.

After all, what more could Father do to him?

Not a good idea to think of his father. Bitter anger boiled up when he did that, and that distracted him from more pleasant things, like what Harry was doing down below, like what it felt like when he felt Harry start to get hard, as he was doing right now.

He must have made some kind of noise or movement that showed that he really wasn't all that interested in sex right now, because Harry gave a sigh and his lips and hands changed their movements. Still gently stroking him, but somehow very clearly no longer working towards arousing either of them. Clearing his throat and shifting slightly behind Draco so that his half-erection was no longer in contact with Draco.

And this wasn't the first time thoughts of Draco's father had completely derailed other more pleasant thoughts. Whether those thoughts contained anger, or hatred, or, occasionally, pity. Pity because Lucius had, in his anger, miscalculated, and Draco was sure he regretted part of what he'd done.

Not the part about branding him like cattle in a way that gave him nightmares that his room mates pretended not to hear. But the part about disowning him so very publicly - front page of the Prophet, again, like they never had anything better to write about, how pathetic - because it had made public some things that weren't supposed to be quite so public quite so soon. Because no father would do what Lucius had done to his son because of a mere inappropriate fling. The same man who'd calmly said he "respected his son's privacy" over the first, innocent picture in the Prophet, had lost it absolutely at the second, damning one. What bigger sign could he have possibly given of his political allegiance?

Poor Father. Consummate politician and master of shrewd Slytherin power plays, goaded into a tactical error by his worthless son's stupidity.

Draco had a feeling, though, that Father's mis-step hadn't been of grave import in the grand scheme of things. It might have blocked Father from access to a few places he would've liked to have had access to, but it seemed the Dark Lord's plans were proceeding apace anyway.

Pansy was rather subdued these days when she read the paper. From what little Draco could glean from stunted conversations around him, Things were Happening. Theo Nott walked around far too smugly for there to be nothing going on. The Prophet reported a valued magical jewel gone here, a prominent person missing there, an uneasy air of forces gathering. Death Eaters sighted at this public event, or that ominous anniversary.

But it wasn't wonderful, like they'd all thought it would be. It didn't consist of the Slytherins looking down their noses at the other poor sods who were going to be bowing and scraping to them in a few short months. It consisted of silences, hesitancy, tears... and so much fear and uncertainty, on both sides of the political divide.

Frankly, Draco didn't much care. Things would happen as they would; they'd been on the cusp of great triumph before and had it turn to shit and they'd been in the depths of despair too and had everything come up roses, and it didn't matter. He'd just do as he was told, like a good little Malfoy, and not bother himself with the details. Just like Father wanted him to.

Except for the one slight disobedience of still fucking the boy who could presumably ruin everything for them. Because Harry at least didn't use him as a canvas on which to cut or burn his initials. Harry held him and gave him solace and warmth that he didn't get anywhere else. Two hurt little boys, Blaise had sneered at them, and all right, yes, fine, maybe that's what they were. Now they were two scarred little boys, too, and wasn't that nice.

The only problem was Harry's bloody cautiousness these days, and Harry's irritating gentleness at times. Harry looked at him like he was fragile and treated him accordingly, and made Draco want to slap that worried look off his face.

There was a Prophet on the side table, and Harry was studiously not looking at it, because Harry was all about tiptoeing around Draco's fragile feelings these days.

And Draco didn't much care for that. "Looks like things are happening," he said challengingly, nodding at the paper and turning onto his back.

"I know," Harry said, a little nervously after a pause.

"What d'you think about it?"

"I think it's horrible."

Draco shrugged. "Anything's better than sitting around waiting for the axe to fall."

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "D'you really think so?"

"Don't tell me you're not tired of being scared. Won't it be easier, once it's all over and done with?"

"Depends who wins," Harry said dryly.

Draco shrugged again.

"Doesn't it matter to you?"

"Why should it?"

"I'm sure your father would be thrilled to hear you say that," Harry said. "So what's the point of that mark on you, then?"

"Decoration," Draco shot back promptly, angry at Harry for mentioning it casually like that. "Pretty, isn't it? I'm sure soon all the young heirs will want one."

"I hate it. And I hate that you might have another one on your arm some day."

Draco shrugged. "Not worth getting your knickers in a twist over it."

"You'd do it?"

"Are you joking? Of course I would," he said, part of his brain sitting bolt upright in deep alarm as his mouth ran away with him.

Harry sat up. "You're really going to be a Death Eater, if asked?"

"Yeah."

"God."

Harry sat staring at him silently for a moment, and Draco realized he felt a little better, the numbness and vague anger receding a bit.

Then Harry took a deep breath. "We can't keep doing this," he said for the tenth time since Draco had come back.

"No, we can't," Draco said, bored with the conversation already.

"Look, your father-"

"Will kill me, yes, I know." He rubbed his eyes and stretched lazily. "And I need to think about that or at least be more careful. I know."

"No, you don't," Harry said brusquely. "I'm putting a stop to this. We can't see each other any more."

"You want to break up?"

"Yes," he said, going for a firm tone.

Draco laughed. "How nice. Thanks, Harry. I got a bloody brand on me because I was fucking you, so it's nice to know I meant enough that you'd like to get rid of me a week later. But hey, sure. I mean, the Boy Who Lived gets to do whatever he wants, right?"

"You think I want this? I'm splitting us up because of your father and because of you wanting to follow Voldemort-"

"Oh please-"

"And I don't  _want_  to do it. It's one more thing in my life that's the way it is because of Voldemort, and I don't want it that way at all!"

"You poor dear," Draco said scornfully.

Harry's eyes took on an angry glint. "Who raised me was determined by Voldemort. How people saw me when I first came to Hogwarts - Voldemort again. The fucking Triwizard Tournament was him again, watching Cedric die was him again, my godfather being killed, and even - even the first time I had sex, and the first time I got married, happened when and how they happened because of bloody Voldemort. And I got something good out of that last one, but now I can't have it back, because of bloody fucking Voldemort. No, I don't care that you don't want to hear his name. I live with what he's done to me every fucking day of my life, and I'll bloody well say his name and make you uncomfortable if I want to."

"If you can manage, during your little pity-party, do try to remember that the first time I got married was because of Voldemort too." They both started a little at the way the name dropped easily from Draco's lips, but Draco was in no mood to mull over how that had happened. "And if you're going to toss me out, don't make me puke by telling me you're doing it for my own good."

Harry blinked, then his face took on a scornful expression. "Oh really?" he sneered. "You believe your dad when he tells you he's doing something for your own good."

"What the hell does my father have to do with-"

"Everything. I'm sick of dealing with your issues with him."

"What?"

"You're impossible. You don't ever see him for what he is, and it's become boring, actually."

Draco smirked. So much for nobility. That sounded more like he actually meant it.

"Your father's an abusive bastard, just as abusive as the Dursleys, except maybe more so  _because_  he loves you. The Dursleys at least never pretended that."

"You're comparing him to Muggles??"

Harry shook his head in contempt and stood up, grabbing his clothing and starting to pull it on. "He doesn't deserve your loyalty. But you're too bloody fucked up to realize that, and you're too bloody fucked up to bother with any more. Go home. Go back to trying to be everything your father wants you to be, so he can disown you some other time." He buttoned up his trousers. "Oh, and if anybody asks, go ahead and tell them you're the one who ended this. That ought to warm Daddy's heart," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Draco stared after him, somewhat stunned. Gradually becoming angry. Put on his own clothing, anger growing by the second, until he was livid and walking down to the dungeons itching for somebody to give him an excuse to hex them.

Still seething about an hour later, as Pansy poked her head into his dorm room.

"Are you all right?" she asked cautiously, standing at the door.

"Yeah, why?" he asked tightly, not looking up from his Potions text.

Pansy took a deep breath, came in and sat down on the bed. "I ran into Potter. Or rather, he ran into me. Told me what happened."

"Did he."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine." Draco underlined a word in his text. "It wouldn't have worked out anyway, right? At least this way I won't get another Howler."

Pansy reached over and closed his book, her expression carefully neutral. "And you're all right with it? Not going to try to get him back?"

"Mordred, no," Draco spat angrily. "He can rot for all I care. Now, will you let me work on my Potions essay?"

"Right," Pansy said, standing up. She tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry this happened. I do wonder why Potter wasn't sorted into Slytherin, though," she murmured as she left the room.

**ooooooo**

**Day 166, Saturday**

Ron trudged wearily out of the Quidditch hut and locked it shut, the last one out. Miserable about the game, despite the fact that as a team, they'd never played better; their Chasers had sent the Quaffle into Hufflepuff's goal six times, and Ron himself had only let in one, despite Hufflepuff's terrifying attacks.

Unfortunately, none of that made much difference when your Seeker didn't catch the Snitch.

And it would've been nice if that was all that was wrong with the game today.

"Weasley," a voice hissed, and he looked up, surprised to see Malfoy in the shadows of the Quidditch hut, looking at once uncomfortable and defiant, beckoning to him.

"What do you want?" he said tiredly, coming closer, checking that they were out of line of sight of the school. A little intrigued despite his exhaustion, because ever since Malfoy had ditched Harry a week ago, he'd been acting like none of them existed. Not that it was that different from how he treated everyone else; Malfoy didn't talk much to anybody any more, not since he'd been disowned.

"Why wasn't Harry playing today?" he asked brusquely.

What the hell? Ron blew his hair out of his eyes impatiently. "Ginny was flying better than he was during practice this week, so he decided to send her up instead."

"Is he sick?"

"He's..." Ron hesitated. "We don't know. He's having trouble concentrating. Not eating or sleeping too well, either."

"Has he seen Pomfrey?"

Ron thought for a moment. Not knowing whether Harry would welcome Ron talking to Malfoy about him. Not knowing whether to risk sharing private information with someone he shouldn't, or risk alienating a Slytherin who could actually prove to be a friend, as Hermione had alienated Parkinson way back in October. "She's a bit worried," he finally said carefully, "but she doesn't know what's wrong. She says it could just be the flu or something."

"And you don't believe that?"

Ron frowned, a little irate at Malfoy for putting him in this position. Why the hell was he poking around Harry's business? He'd made his choice, gone back to his father, ditched Harry, ignored all of them for a week, and now he was... what? Curious about Harry? Concerned about his health?

On the other hand, he also looked intensely uncomfortable right now, like he was here and talking to Ron against his better judgment. And for some reason that almost made Ron want to trust him. Maybe.

He took a deep breath. "Not really. I think... I think he's been cursed."

Malfoy stared at him. "How long has this been going on?"

"Why do you care?" he asked curiously.

"Don't be stupid," Malfoy snapped, and Ron's defences went up. Right, this had probably been a bad idea.

"Well, it's been lovely talking to you," he said sarcastically. "Let's not do it again, all right?"

"Weasley-"

He started to leave and Malfoy grabbed his shoulder. "The hell, Malfoy?" he exclaimed, pulling away from him.

"Why are you being such a git?" Malfoy said, annoyed.

"Why do you care how Harry's doing?" Ron shot back. "He's not your concern any more, is he?"

"I... no."

"Well then."

"He's not my concern. But..." Malfoy trailed off, looking away from him.

"Look," Ron began heatedly, "you dropped him after your father put pressure on you, and nobody blames you for that, but you don't get to-"

"Wait - what?" Malfoy interrupted, frowning. "Is that what he told you?"

"What?"

"That I dropped him."

Ron blinked. "Erm... didn't you?"

"No!" Ron felt his eyebrows rise. "Merlin, Weasley, close your mouth," Malfoy snapped.

Ron did so, his mind racing. Come to think of it, no, Harry hadn't given them much detail over the break-up. They'd just assumed, and Harry hadn't corrected their assumption. "Well he... he knew you would've, eventually," he said, going for a firm tone.

"Yes, of course," Malfoy sneered. "What with Harry being such an astute judge of character and all."

"Malfoy-"

"Look, I just want to know what's going on with him," Malfoy said impatiently.

Ron stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Finally he cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. "Why do you care anyway?" he asked. "No matter who dropped who, you've picked your side."

"He's not my enemy," Malfoy said quietly.

"Maybe not," Ron said thoughtfully. "But... look, I'm sorry, Malfoy, but what happens to Harry is none of your business any more. Go back to your house."

**ooooooo**

**Day 169, Tuesday**

"All right, where the hell is he?" Malfoy cornered Hermione three days later as she left Arithmancy.

She gave him an icy stare. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't, Granger, not now. Where's Harry? Why isn't he in class?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him exactly where to go, then stopped herself. Ron had told her about his conversation with Malfoy the other day, including the odd fact that it had apparently been Harry who'd split them up, and not Malfoy. And the fact that Malfoy had seemed really concerned about Harry, genuinely disturbed that something seemed seriously wrong with him.

She took a good look at Malfoy, noting the tenseness of his posture and expression. "He's... in the hospital wing," she finally said him, noticing how he simultaneously relaxed at the fact that she was willing to talk to him, and tensed up at her news.

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Same thing that's been wrong with him for weeks. He's nauseated, has a headache, can't concentrate - all the same things he's been dealing with since January or so, except this time it isn't going away."

"Since January?" Malfoy looked puzzled.

"Off and on. Didn't you notice?"

"He always seemed all right to me. Until the last week or so."

Hermione kept her face impassive, though inwardly she berated herself for completely missing the fact that Malfoy had apparently been paying attention to Harry, for all that he'd looked like he didn't know the Gryffindor side of the room existed.  _Slytherins_ , she thought to herself impatiently. "Well, he's not. He hasn't been, for a while. He was all right for a few weeks, but then he went back downhill. The last week's been particularly bad. Pomfrey doesn't know what to do with him. She's tried all sorts of cheering charms, enervating spells, concentration spells, all of that, and nothing works. He just keeps getting more and more irritable and nauseated."

"It's not like when we were cursed with that unbalancing-"

"No, she looked for that. And Harry said that when you two - when, er, you had sex, it wasn't like it had been when you were cursed."

"No, it wasn't. He was fine. Was he all right with anybody else?"

"He didn't sleep with anybody else." Hermione paused for a moment. "He said he felt like he would've been unfaithful."

Malfoy looked at her in surprise, then frowned in thought.

"You did, though - Parkinson, right?" Hermione said.

"Yeah," he said absently. "And Stephen Cornfoot."

"Cornfoot?"

"A couple of times, yeah, nothing bad happened with either one." His frown deepened. "But... but Harry was all right. He said he felt fine. He  _was_  fine - besides, what kind of curse would take a few weeks off like this?"

"I don't know."

"Are you working with Pomfrey?"

"Yes."

"Good." Malfoy chewed on his lip distractedly. "You'll figure it out, if anybody can."

"I... I hope so."

"I never noticed he was sick," Malfoy repeated, almost to himself.

"You happened to catch him in between bouts of this whatever-it-is. Or you made him be between bouts - which, if you did, Pomfrey wants a word with you."

"What do you mean?"

"Pomfrey found that there was some kind of anti-nausea or anti-irritation spell, or both, cast on Harry a long time ago. Months ago. Pomfrey didn't do it, and Harry doesn't recall anybody else casting it on him, so we thought it might have been you. We thought that maybe you got tired of hearing him complain, and cast a spell to shut him up."

Malfoy shook his head, puzzled. "No, he didn't say anything to me. Anti-irritation?"

"He's complained of an irritating feeling, like ants crawling over him. Well if it wasn't you, then who would it have been?"

"Damned if I know," Malfoy said helplessly.

"I'll have to tell Pomfrey you didn't do it. She was a little upset - said that might have made things worse, which is why you never cast medical spells without supervision, because you may get rid of the symptoms but the problem stays."

"I didn't do any medical spells on him," Malfoy insisted. "I wouldn't have, I'm rubbish at them."

"He's also been having trouble concentrating... though I think that's probably due more to..." Hermione trailed off, not wanting to voice what she really felt, which was that it was due to missing Malfoy. No sense in that. "And he's had muscle pains. I don't think those are so bad. The loss of energy's getting pretty severe, though. Although I think the curse you were under was worse - then again, you two were doing your best to cover how bad you felt, but he says this isn't as bad..." Hermione trailed off, realizing Malfoy wasn't listening to her. He was gazing at the ground, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Granger... can you do something for me?" he said slowly, and Hermione was too surprised to say anything sarcastic.

"What?"

Enough of her sceptical attitude must have come through, because he frowned briefly. "All right, not for me, then; for him. I need you to check on some things."

"Why?"

"I think I have an idea... I just hope to god I'm wrong."


	20. March 18 - March 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Calíope Amphora for your beta work. I really, really appreciate it :)

**Day 171, Thursday**

Harry kept his eyes closed as he debated the pros and cons of throwing up yet again. Realized that the 'pro' list was distressingly short. Normally throwing up felt disgusting and horrible while it was happening, but brought a sense of relief once it was over, an end to the nausea that preceded it. Not right now. Right now not much seemed to help. Even the various spells and potions Pomfrey kept dosing him with only gave him brief respites before it came back in full force, accompanied by pain, fatigue, and a generalized conviction that life, as a whole, sucked.

Nausea, pain, and fatigue, against a lovely background of boredom. Three days into this latest hospitalization, that was another big theme of his life. He turned onto his side and began a mental list of his visitors, to cheer himself up and to keep his mind busy. Hermione and Ron, of course. And Neville, Ginny, Seamus, Dean and Tracey Davis, Colin, Dennis, Justin, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, and Trelawney - a real misery-magnet, Ron called her - Hannah, Terry, Mandy, Padma, Lisa, Stephen, Luna, Ernie, Susan, Pansy, Blaise... he wondered if he should start sorting his visitors by house, or by day they came, or by age. To entertain himself, and to push aside thoughts of the one person conspicuous in his absence.

He wasn't surprised that Draco hadn't visited. Not after the way Harry had broken up with him. He winced as he remembered the cruel things he'd said, the callous way he'd stalked off, and didn't blame Draco at all for staying away.

He turned onto his back, swallowing against at the renewed nausea from the movement, but bored of being on his side. Let himself wish he hadn't walked out on Draco for all of a minute before reminding himself of the many reasons why he had.

"I think he's asleep-" he heard Pomfrey say, and he turned his head - carefully - to see who was asking for him. Sat up quickly and immediately wished he hadn't, as his stomach threatened to empty itself again.

"God, Harry - here." Draco was by his side in an instant, one hand on his shoulder and the other grabbing a bucket that had been left next to the bed. "D'you need-"

"No, no, I'm all right-" Harry mumbled, eyes closing again and trying to figure out who he should look at once he felt a little steadier. It was a real toss-up - although "toss" was probably a bad word to be thinking of right now - whether to look at Draco, or the person with him. "Healer?" he finally said uncertainly.

"Mr. Potter," Healer Esposito said quietly as Harry opened his eyes again, gratefully noting that his nausea seemed temporarily under control.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and frowned as she and Draco exchanged an uneasy glance. Looked questioningly at Draco, who was still holding his shoulder.

Esposito cleared her throat. "I got an urgent owl from Miss Granger about your recent illness. I'd like to examine you, if you don't mind." Harry nodded, completely mystified. "Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry's frown grew deeper as Draco did not step back to give her room to work, as Harry had expected him to, but instead let go of Harry's shoulder and grasped Harry's right hand with his own.

"What are-"

"Trust me," Draco said shortly as Esposito took out her wand and pointed it at their joined hands.

"Lux Vinculum," she said tersely. Nothing happened, and Draco breathed out and started to draw back, but Esposito quickly shook her head at him, closed her eyes, and repeated firmly, "Lux Vinculum."

A band of shining Celtic knotwork slowly took shape around Harry's wrist, twisting around it and disappearing into thin air.

Draco swallowed hard and covered his mouth with his hand, shaking his head slowly. "Fuck, no."

Esposito nodded grimly, then waved her wand and the band of light disappeared.

"What..." Harry said dazedly, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Esposito rubbed her face wearily. "Well. There you go, that's the nature of your trouble right there."

"What is?"

"You're suffering from the effects of an incomplete bond."

"A what?"

"A bond without a bond-mate."

Harry frowned. "I've been... bonded again?" Esposito nodded. "But... the shock from the first one knocked me right out. Wouldn't I have noticed if somebody cast another bond spell on me?"

"Maybe. But I believe that your original bond was never dissolved. I believe that during your supposed unbonding, Mr. Malfoy was simply freed from the bond, and you were not. You've been suffering from the effects of not having a spouse when your body is convinced you have one." Harry blinked at her, unable to fully process her words. "The nausea, the headaches, the various discomforts - you experienced all of that at the beginning of your bond, whenever you were too far apart. Your bond is no longer new, so you were able to go for much longer before it became intolerable, but your body has started to react to the distance."

"That's not possible," he said flatly. "That bond was dissolved. I saw it. I  _felt_  it being removed - I couldn't feel what he was feeling any more. I still can't."

"Yes, well, that kind of mental rapport requires a two-way bond," she said grimly. "Besides, how do you feel right now?"

"A bit ill, but I'm-"

"Feeling better than you did a few minutes ago," she interrupted him. "Physically, at least. Right? When we walked in, you looked like you were about to be violently ill. Now you don't. And I believe it's because Mr. Malfoy is touching you."

"But how - it's been months, and I felt fine right after the unbonding, and-"

"You also had various charms cast on you around the same time as the supposed unbonding. The one I just pushed past was hiding the bond itself. The rest were most probably spells to mask the symptoms you were going to experience, so that nobody would be able to figure out what was happening until it was too late."

"So how did you?"

"Granger said that you'd been feeling like you had ants crawling across your skin," Draco said quietly. "I remembered you said something like that while we were bonded."

Harry looked at him. Shivered a bit at the dark, troubled look in his eyes.

"How..."

"We're not sure," Esposito said. "It was almost certainly done by either McKay or the Healer at your unbonding."

Or Lucius Malfoy, Harry thought dazedly, and noted the way Draco averted his eyes. "The... Healer?"

"Miss Granger asked why I hadn't been here for your unbonding. I had fully intended to be, if the caster was found, but I just happened to be ill for two weeks right when Mr. Malfoy's father found McKay." She pressed her lips together. "I'm told he made quite a fuss over that; demanded that I come supervise, wouldn't hear of anybody else," she said grimly. "Apparently they had a time getting him to accept anybody else, but he finally did. Healer Bernard Colchis."

"What does Colchis say?"

"He very conveniently stopped working at St. Mungo's about three weeks after your unbonding. Went to work at a hospital in France, we were told. But he's not there any more. Can't be reached. The Aurors have been called in to the search."

"And you think he was... that somebody got you out of the way, so that Colchis could come and..."

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore was also supposed to be present at your unbonding, but just happened to be called away to a meeting with a representative of the Finnish centaurs. Who turned out to be under the impression that Dumbledore was the one who'd called for a meeting with him. At the time it was thought to have been a simple misunderstanding, but in retrospect..."

"Seems a little convenient, yeah," Harry said dazedly.

"I can only assume that Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, and possibly the Ministry Record Keeper and the two of you as well, were put under some variation of a Confundus spell. So that you would hear the words of the proper unbonding incantation, not notice additional spells being cast at the same time, that kind of thing." Harry nodded, remembering how quickly and efficiently everything seemed to have been done that day. He'd seen absolutely nothing to make him think anything was going on but the simple ending of a spell and registration of the end of a marriage. "That would have been a little more difficult to do to Professor Dumbledore and myself."

"But there were Aurors there as well, wouldn't they have-"

"It's possible they were under Confundus too," Esposito said heavily. "Though one of them is also mysteriously missing."

"That sounds like a lot of spells for one or even two people to do," Harry said slowly.

Draco swallowed hard. "You can say it, Healer," he said, his voice tight. "You think my father was also involved."

Esposito gave him a brief sympathetic glance and nodded. "I would guess that it took all three of them: McKay, your father, and the Healer, to cast the necessary spells. It seems to have been well-planned. Well-executed, too. Unfortunately."

Harry sat back, trying to process all of it. "So... I'm really still bonded."

"Yes."

"To Draco."

"We're not sure about that part, but I'd say yes, most probably."

"But he's not bonded to me."

"No."

"And... I'm ill because I'm... missing him?"

"Essentially, yes. You need him to be near you, or you suffer withdrawal. And if you are apart from him for too long, you eventually become ill."

"So what's the cure?"

"Mr. Potter..." She heaved a deep sigh. "It all depends on what happened - whether it's the same bond or a new one, and who cast it, and how. Best case scenario: if it's a new bond, cast by Healer Colchis, we need to find him and have him remove it. Or, if we can't find him, but it's just an incomplete bond, you merely need to bond with somebody; it doesn't matter who." She took a deep breath. "Worst case scenario, if it's the original bond that was cast by McKay, which is what I think... then only Mr. Malfoy can complete the bond. And with the caster dead, if Mr. Malfoy re-enters the bond, it will be permanent."

"But if I'm near him he feels better," Draco said. "Couldn't I just be near him till the bond isn't so new any more?"

"Your mere proximity won't help forever. Eventually he'll need more than that. A bond doesn't merely require closeness from the focus of the bond, it requires a reciprocal bond from them. At a certain point, all the proximity in the world won't do much if there's no bond beneath it."

They stared at her in dismay.

"Why don't we reserve panic for when we know more," Esposito said gently. "I'll be monitoring you, Mr. Potter, and running a few tests on you. This looks like something that took a long time to plan and carry out; we're not going to figure it all out in a day."

"How long..."

"I don't know. We'll be doing our best to keep you stabilized. If Mr. Malfoy can stay with you, that'll likely give us much more time to figure it out."

There was an uneasy pause.

"Would you like me to leave you two-"

"No," said Harry, as Draco said, "Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly. "We need to talk." He sat down on the bed as Esposito left.

There was a long pause, before Draco quietly said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For... everything," Draco said with a wry smile. He was still holding Harry's hand, and Harry started to withdraw, suppressing a wince as he let go.

Draco frowned. "Does it not make a difference, having contact?"

"It does, but..."

"But we're not a couple any more, so you're going to be a proper noble Gryffindor and keep your hands to yourself even if it makes you throw up." He rolled his eyes. "God it's a miracle any of you manage to stay alive. I don't mind, you twit." He took Harry's hand again.

Harry pressed his lips together, refusing to let his hand relax in Draco's. "What if I do?"

"Look, I'm willing to stay here if you need me to-"

"D'you think your father wouldn't disown you again for doing that? Especially if he's behind this?"

"He's not here right now."

Harry sat back, turning his face away from Draco. "Draco... why are you even here? Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I broke up with you, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. I also remember you were a fucking bastard about it, and said a lot of things that pissed me off for days."

"And that's why now you're helping to undermine your father's latest plot to kill me?"

"You'd never said anything like that before. You're not a spiteful person. You get pissed off, but you never get... hurtful, like that."

"You'd pissed me off. A lot."

"Even Pansy saw through what you were doing with that, Harry," he said heavily. "And so did I, after I let myself think about it."

Harry sighed, letting the topic drop. Better than going into detail over who had said and done what, and just how transparent his own motivations had been. Next subject.

"You know, this does explain a lot..." he said thoughtfully. "It was still the spell, that's why I didn't feel all that different. I couldn't sense your feelings, but I still needed to be with you, and I... I wanted to touch you." He shook his head, turning back to Draco. "And I thought that when we did get back together, that it was exactly the same as before because I'd never, you know, had sex with anybody else before, so I was just used to feeling... the way I did, because I was back with you."

Draco was looking away miserably, his face flushed, and Harry frowned at him. "What is it?" Draco shook his head quickly. "Draco."

"Nothing."

"Come on, what is it?"

"Nothing. Just drop it," he muttered irritably.

Harry frowned, confused. "You look like you're - I don't know, you're angry at something I've-"

"You heard the Healer, with no mutual bond you can't tell what I'm feeling!"

"But you-" Harry withdrew his hand again. "Listen, you don't have to stay here out of a sense of obligation or anything..."

"Oh, not this again," Draco muttered.

"Draco, you don't have to help me. You didn't do this to me. You're not your father."

"No, I'm not."

"That's a compliment, you git!"

"Thanks ever so," Draco said tightly.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

Draco sat back, arms crossed, lips set in a thin line.

"Look, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done wrong this time-"

"No,  _you_  didn't do anything wrong!" Draco shot back angrily. "You've got every excuse for what happened, don't you?"

"What? What excuse?"

"You feel the way you feel because-" His breath caught and he suddenly stopped, his anger fading as abruptly as it had arisen and replaced with... something else Harry couldn't identify. He looked down, his face half-hidden by his hair, and slowly forced the words out. "You... you feel the way you do because of a spell." He cleared his throat. "I do because... because I just do."

Harry winced, abruptly realizing the depth of his tactlessness. He would make a list, he promised himself fervently. Stupid, Stupid Things I Have Said To People I Fancy. He would read it every single night, and perhaps that would inspire him to think before he spoke, so that he could stop adding to it.

Or maybe it would just inspire him to never open his mouth again. Either would be good.

Except silence really wouldn't help right now. Blast. "It, it's not just the bond for me either," he blurted awkwardly, kicking himself for the tight, uncomfortable set of Draco's shoulders, the defensive expression on his face. "It's not just about - about sex, it - it wasn't just that, even before the bond ended."

Draco shrugged, still not meeting his eyes.

"Look... you've been where I am. You know the spell can make me want to go to bed with you, but it..." he trailed off, inwardly squirming at putting his feelings into words, but making himself push on. Knowing that, however embarrassed he was about to feel, it probably didn't compare to how exposed Draco felt right now. "It can't make me miss you, or, or want to hear your voice. It can't make a smile from you feel... the way it feels. It's not a love spell. There's no such thing."

Draco swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, even with the spell, you still split us up."

"And you just said you'd figured that out," Harry pointed out. "If the spell was all I felt, I wouldn't have sent you away, would I? If all I wanted was to - to fuck you, it wouldn't have mattered to me whether you got hurt by it or not."

And it was probably a good idea to stop there before he said anything even more asinine. He cleared his throat, waiting nervously for Draco's response, his chest uncomfortably tight. Let himself relax slightly as Draco nodded uncertainly. He hesitated a moment, then tentatively reached for Draco's hand again and drew Draco closer, sighing in relief as Draco slowly relaxed and then hesitantly ran his hand up Harry's arm to his cheek.

"Does it really feel like at the beginning of the bond?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry nodded, letting himself lean into the touch.

"Shit. That's awful."

"Pretty much." Harry shifted in the bed, acutely aware that though Draco's presence was immensely helpful, he still felt like hell. From pining away for his bond-mate. How bloody ridiculous. It sounded like... "Oh god," he groaned and closed his eyes, then laughed softly.

"What?"

"This is just so... I'm in a Veela romance novel!"

"What?"

"Hermione, she found Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil reading Veela romances a few years ago. Apparently they're pure rubbish, they're about-"

"I know what Veela romance novels are, Harry," Draco snickered. "When we were twelve Pansy was addicted to them."

"You're joking. Pansy?"

"Wanted to write her own, actually. And she was convinced my father was lying and Malfoys really were part-Veelas, so she kept writing stories where I found my mate but my mate didn't want me and I died of a little broken Veela-heart or something." Harry laughed. "I finally did a spell on one of them, changed the hero's name from 'Draco' to 'Neville.' She never wrote another word."

Harry snickered. "Hermione still reads them."

"You're not serious. Granger?"

"Uses them as study breaks. She says some of them are actually very good."

"Of all the things I'd want a Muggle-born to understand and appreciate about our culture, Veela romances..." Draco shook his head, amused.

"It's funny. They sound so stupid. But it's like so many things in the wizarding world - it sounds impossible to people who didn't grow up with it; like how can you literally die of unrequited love? But it's just par for the course in this world." Harry stopped, realizing his voice was taking on a rather bitter tone from the sudden seriousness of Draco's expression.

"Harry-"

"No, don't. We don't know for sure that - let's just do what the Healer said, wait till we know for sure before panicking."

Draco chewed on his lip and nodded, and they lapsed into silence.

**ooooooo**

**Day 173, Saturday**

"Draco?"

Draco smiled at his mother's face in the fireplace. "Mother. Is Father home?" he asked.

"No, he's at the Goyles'," Mother said, puzzled, and Draco breathed a small sigh of relief. "I thought this was Severu-"

"I got Professor Snape's permission to use his fireplace. Mother, I need to ask you a few questions."

"Yes?" Mother looked distinctly uneasy, and Draco wished he had time for a proper chat with her. He and his mother hadn't spoken since Father had disowned him, though she'd hugged him tightly as he'd left the manor after being marked, letting him know that she at least wasn't still angry with him.

"You know Potter's ill."

His mother's face went curiously blank. "I read that in the paper, yes."

"Is our family involved in this?"

Mother hesitated, clearly torn. "Draco, your father-"

"Father hasn't told me anything. But I'm being asked questions, and I don't want to reveal anything I'm not supposed to because I'm being kept in the dark again."

Mother sighed. "I keep telling your father that. He keeps so much from you that you ought to know."

"Well?"

"I don't know everything, love."

"Can you tell me what you do know?"

Mother took a deep breath. "Yes, your father's involved. He's... he planned this very carefully. How much do they know over there?"

"The Healer who handled our bond came back. She did a test on Potter and found that he was bonded, but she doesn't know for sure whether it's the same bond as before or a new one. Or whether it's an incomplete bond with no spouse or a bond with me as the focus." He paused. "She also doesn't know whether Father's involved or not."

"Good."

"They suspect him, though."

"I can imagine. As long as they don't know for sure, we'll be all right."

"They're going to find out. McKay's dead, but they're looking for Healer Colchis and one of the Aurors who was here with him."

"They won't find them," Mother assured him.

Draco took a deep breath. "Why didn't Father tell me any of this? Did he not trust me?"

"No, that's not - he just didn't want to put you in a difficult position."

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "He could've said something."

"He thought it would be best if you didn't know." She paused. "Your father worked on this for a long time, Draco. He spent weeks working out the details, practicing-"

"Weeks?" Draco repeated. "When did he find McKay?"

"A few days after your interview with the Prophet came out."

Draco sat back, stunned. "That was before our Christmas exams."

"Yes."

"But the unbonding was done near the end of January!" Mother nodded. "He left me in the bloody bond for  _weeks_  after he'd found the caster?"

"He didn't want to. But he needed to give the Dark Lord some compensation, for having taken part in the healing circle."

"This is his compensation? Cursing Harry with an incomplete bond?"

"It was the easiest thing to do. Hogwarts is full of wards to prevent Dark Magic, and he knew it would be difficult to get close enough to Potter to curse him, and any curse he tried to cast would be detected right away. Using an existing bond made it difficult for anybody to detect anything going wrong, because the spell itself was fairly old. And it was hidden under a few new charms that wouldn't be noticed if they were done in the hospital wing, as they were all medical spells."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "And all of this is meant to... kill him? With a broken bond?"

Mother nodded.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to keep his face impassive, knowing he was failing utterly as his mother gazed at him worriedly.

"Draco... this is for the best." He stared at her. "Love, I know you... care for him," his mother said hesitantly. "But please don't forget who he is. He's... his death will be unfortunate, but it's necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"Sweetheart, you must know what's going on. I know your father's not pleased with you, but surely your friends-"

"I don't know anything," Draco broke in. "Nobody talks to me any more."

Mother nodded sadly. "Love, I'm sorry. You can't blame them, though. Once all of this... unpleasantness is over, you'll have a chance to redeem yourself. Once Potter is out of the way and we take our rightful place. This is for the best, darling. Almost everything is in place, and then... it'll be all right, you'll see."

Draco nodded, his eyes on the floor as they spoke of inconsequential things for a little longer and then said their goodnights, a worried look on his mother's face as she disappeared from the fireplace.

It was all for the best, and it would all be all right. Except that it wasn't, and it wouldn't be.

Why don't we reserve panic for when we know more, Esposito had said. Well, now he knew more, and knew that the worst-case scenario was exactly what they had to deal with. Now would probably be an excellent time to panic.

Except he felt no panic, just dread and helpless anger at his father. For putting Harry through this, for putting him through this. For letting him go back to Harry with no idea that he would be undoing months of his father's careful planning. For taking him back into the family, but with a bloody brand on him to remind him not to disobey again. Even if obeying meant watching someone he cared about slowly die, with Draco holding his salvation in his hands.

He rubbed his forehead as he headed back towards the hospital wing, wrestling down his fear and resentment. All he could do was to shut it down, try to buy Harry some time, and hope like hell that somebody was able to pull a yet another bloody miracle to save him - again.

**ooooooo**

**Day 174, Sunday**

Pansy gazed at the two boys a few beds away in the hospital wing, wondering if Granger was as creeped out as she was by the way 'Weasley' was holding Potter's hand and stroking his hair back off his forehead, talking to him softly and trying to keep his nausea at bay. Even after three days of this, it was difficult to get used to.

"This is just so... odd," she commented, wincing at the unfamiliar voice coming from her throat. "I wonder how Blaise is doing with the Weasleys."

"I'm sure they're all right. Though I must say I'm still surprised he agreed to do this," Granger commented. "I thought he wasn't talking to Malfoy in public any more."

"No, he's progressed all the way to monosyllables now. Going from that to studying together again in the library won't be that far a leap, especially if it looks like I'm there as well. And nobody from Slytherin will sit with Draco anyway, so unless Weasley forgets which fork to use or tries to pick out his own clothing, they should be all right."

"I hope so." Granger looked over at the hospital bed, where Potter had apparently gone to sleep. 'Weasley' had stopped talking and was now simply holding his hand and gazing at him with a thoughtful expression that looked utterly out of place on Ron Weasley's normally rather witless face. "This is... strange."

Pansy couldn't help but agree, as she twirled a lock of long red hair around fingers of a hand that boasted more freckles than could be found on Pansy's entire family. "Where did you get the polyjuice, anyway?" she asked Granger. "You couldn't have made it yourself."

"No, it takes a month to brew. Ron's brothers have a contact in Hogsmeade who deals in... questionable potions."

"You Gryffindors. We're always underestimating just how devious you can be. Good idea, by the way."

"I thought they were both going to be ill when they first took it." Granger smiled slightly.

Pansy snickered. It had been hard to tell who had been more horrified by his transformation at first: Weasley or Draco. Serious as the situation was, Pansy had to admit that it had been immensely amusing to the rest of them to watch the dismay with which they'd stared at one other, Draco's elegant expression of disgust on Weasley's peasant face, Weasley's dull-eyed discomfort marring Draco's fine features. And later, the swaps between Draco and the three other seventh-year Gryffindor boys - calling themselves the Gryffindor Polyjuice Squad, of course - had each offered its own brand of hilarity.

Less amusing for Pansy had been this morning's body swap between herself and Girl Weasley. At least she was pretty, even if it was a rather common, freckley prettiness. And they were much the same size, which meant they only had to swap outer robes and ties, unlike Ron Weasley and Draco, who had to do an entire wardrobe exchange. An affront to elegance, it was, Weasley shrugging into Draco's finely tailored school uniforms, while Draco tried very hard not to wince at the coarse feel of Weasley's patched garb.

"Thank you, by the way," Granger said hesitantly. "I know it's not easy for you. And I know... I know you don't want Malfoy to be involved in this."

"No, I don't." But there was no talking to Draco about it any more, so Pansy had decided to save her breath and just try to help him not get caught doing the stupid things he wanted to do. "You know Draco can't do this forever, though. Eventually somebody'll catch on. Weasley will have to answer a question in class, or Longbottom will melt a cauldron or Finnigan will... well, be Finnigan..."

"Or one of you two will sneer at the wrong person."

"Not as likely. The only people around me and Draco are people who know what's going on."

Granger nodded. "Parkinson..." she said hesitantly. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"I thought you'd know. Haven't you been studying bonds day and night?"

Granger nodded, glancing at her copy of  _Mariage_   _and Bonde Spells: A Compleate Guide_. "It's a fascinating subject. I had no idea wizard and Muggle marriages were so different. I was at Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding, and it looked very much like a Muggle wedding. Even the words they used were very similar."

"Really?"

"Well, they used this one..." She flipped to the section on standard incantations and pointed one out.

_I bond myself to you. I give you all that I am, for the rest of our lives_...

Pansy rolled her eyes. What a shock, a Weasley and a part-Veela, choosing one of the sugary ones.

"It was lovely," Granger said, smiling nostalgically. "I knew there was an element of magic to it, I just didn't know the details. And I didn't know there were so many different variations of the spell."

Pansy tskd impatiently. "Of course there's different variations. You wouldn't use the same words to bond two people who are already in love, versus two people who've just met, would you?"

"No, I suppose not." Granger paused for a moment. "Do you think... I know the Healer doesn't know for sure, but she really thinks the only cure is..."

"For Draco to bond permanently to Potter."

Granger nodded. "Do you think he might do it?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"If he doesn't, Harry will probably die."

"I know."

"And Malfoy would just let him?"

"Draco doesn't owe him anything. He's not the one who put this curse on him."

"I know that. But he cares about Harry. Anybody can see that."

Pansy sighed. "He cares about his family and our cause as well, Granger."

"Is it really that important to you? Being a pureblood, following Voldemort?" Pansy gave Granger a startled look. So odd, how a Muggle-born who had the most to fear from the Dark Lord could say his name with such lack of fear. "Is it so important that you'd let somebody you care about die for the cause?"

"Yes," Pansy said simply.

"I couldn't do that," Granger said after a moment, her voice slightly shaky. "Just give up somebody else's life for some grand-"

"Excuse me?" Pansy cut in incredulously. "You've not done anything in the last seven years that entailed a sacrifice? Never once put a cause ahead of a life? I must say I'm surprised, because off the top of my head I can think of at least three occasions, if the stories that have gone around about your little Golden Trio are at all accurate. Even as far back as first year, you were doing it. Or was that whole story about you and Potter almost letting Weasley get killed by a homicidal chess piece exaggerated?"

Granger bit her lip. "That was different. He chose to-"

"This is a war, Granger. You have to make hard choices in a war. Don't you dare look down on Draco just because his choices are different from yours."

"It's not looking down - it's, I don't understand you at all-"

"And that's why you don't belong in our world."

Granger bit her lip. "But I'm not... look, I didn't ask to be a witch born to Muggle parents. None of us Muggle-borns did. What are we supposed to do? We can't not use our magic-"

"You come into our world and bring your blood and customs in, and that's destroying us."

"Don't you think that excessive inbreeding would eventually destroy you too?"

"Granger, I know the Weasleys look like walking ginger advertisements as to the dangers of inbreeding ourselves into imbecility, but the pureblood wizarding community isn't actually that small. And we intermarry with foreign wizardkind quite a bit. We don't need your 'new blood,' nor do we want or need your foreign ideas and customs. Nor do we need the other danger you bring with you, the danger of exposing our world to the Muggles."

"And what about leaving us Muggle-borns out in the Muggle world, with nobody to teach us how to control or use our powers, or how to hide them from the Muggles? How does that help wizardkind?"

"I don't want to get into a political argument with you, Granger. You just don't understand us."

"So  _help_  me to understand," Granger said, distressed.

"There's too many of you for us to help you all-"

"But if we're willing to learn-"

"- and you don't want to listen to us anyway. You don't think we've got anything worth learning. You don't trust us."

"I do."

Pansy raised a cynical eyebrow, and Granger had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I do. I've learned. You told me back at Halloween that... that some of you could be human too. And I wasn't listening, because I thought I understood what you were all about. But I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Pansy frowned at her suspiciously, and Granger crossed her arms in a defensive gesture, but plugged on determinedly. "Maybe if I'd been a little less suspicious, we could have got on better. And when Malfoy's father brought McKay in, we would've been able to see that Harry and Malfoy were actually happy together. And maybe Malfoy would've been able to tell his father where to stick McKay, and stayed bonded to Harry."

"I very much doubt that."

"Do you think Malfoy and Harry belong together? If there were no politics involved, do you think they would want to be together?"

Pansy sighed, remembering her conversation with Draco about just this topic. Finally nodded grudgingly.

"Well if the politics had been worked out back then, maybe-"

"That's still pretty far-fetched, Granger. Even if they were happy together, they'd been bonded against their will, and they were still too young to settle down for life with anybody, let alone each other. I don't think they would've stayed bonded, no matter what we did differently."

"They might have, though," Granger said stubbornly, and Pansy shrugged. It didn't make much difference at this particular point in time. "And I'm sorry that... that we didn't make things easier for them. Because I didn't trust you, and I pushed you away." She took a deep breath. "And I want to make it up, somehow - and not just because I want you to convince Malfoy to... well. I - whatever happens to Harry, I'm willing to do things differently. To listen to people like you. Even to trust you."

Pansy gazed at her thoughtfully.

"This world is my home now. My loyalties are here. I don't want to destroy it any more than you do."

"I don't understand you."

"I'm not that different from you."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "I wouldn't expect you to see that as a positive thing."

"Why not?"

"Maybe because your kind always seem to think you're above us."

"And you don't think you're above us?"

Pansy inclined her head slightly, conceding the point.

"We're really not that different," Granger repeated stubbornly.

Pansy thought for a moment, then gave a slight shrug, tentatively accepting the olive branch being held out. "Maybe. Though frankly, I don't see it much in you." She paused. "Now, Potter, on the other hand... him I can understand, sometimes. Breaking it off with Draco and getting Draco good and pissed off so he wouldn't want to return." She smiled slightly. "Might've made a good Slytherin after all."

"Don't insult him," Granger said with a small smile.

Pansy chuckled. "I'm not."

Granger looked up as Draco approached, Ron Weasley's unremarkable features set in a very Draco expression of worry and strain.

"How is he?"

"He's getting worse," he said dully. "I'm not sure how much I'm helping any more."

"What are you going to do?" Granger asked.

Draco looked away.

"Malfoy... you know what he needs-"

Draco shook his head. "I can't."

"I know your father took you back into the family, but he's never really going to forgive you," Granger said, a little desperately. "And you're finished in Slytherin anyhow-"

"I can't go back to him, Granger. Even if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

"I'm... Harry didn't tell you what my father did when I went home, did he?" Hermione shook her head. Draco hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and said, "I'm... marked." He put up a hand impatiently as she gulped and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Not the Dark Mark." He took another deep breath. "Don't know if Weasley or any of the others have told you, but I have a Malfoy crest on me. It looks like a tattoo." Granger nodded uncertainly, and Pansy wished she knew what the Gryffindors had made of it. Probably thought it was some kind of stupid Slytherin pureblood family pride thing. "It's the same as a Dark Mark, only it answers to Father. If my father wants me to come home, it'll turn black, and burn. Ignoring it will feel like hell. I join Harry and my life's pretty much over; my father will activate this thing, and I'll probably go insane before my eighteenth birthday. It doesn't sound terribly attractive." He breathed in. "And if I don't..."

Granger looked faintly green. "Well... maybe... maybe we can try to get rid of the bond, we're still working on..."

Draco gave her a scornful look. "Don't bother to - I know what's going to happen to him, Granger, don't try to sugarcoat it. You can't get rid of it. It's a bond and you've lost the caster. There's no other way around it."

"We got rid of the unbalancing spell."

"It's not the same! You don't understand - damn it, this is why Muggle-borns are no bloody good in the wizarding world! Yeah, an unbalancing spell, you figured it out, and aren't you clever. This is a  _bond_ , Granger. People have been trying to get rid of unwanted bond spells for centuries. Nobody can. Nobody."

"Nobody's supposed to be able to survive Avada Kedavra either."

"How much do you want to bet that the Boy Wonder is impervious to an Unforgivable  _and_  a broken bond? You've seen him. He's not surviving this. He's going steadily downhill."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know!"

Silence.

"There's only one way to help him. To do that, put myself in danger, risk... pain and, and being bound to him when-  _and_  I'd have to turn my back on my father, my family... everything I believe in."

He went to the window, gazed out blankly. Pansy got up and followed him, putting a comforting hand on his back.

"There's no good way through this," he said, Weasleys' voice thick in his throat.

"The... the Dark Mark..." Granger said tentatively. "People survive it-"

"Not well."

"No." Granger swallowed hard, and Pansy wondered how much of her gentle tone towards him right now was due to his resemblance to Weasley.

Pansy sighed. "Your father has a lot more of your loyalty than he deserves. Family's one thing, Draco, but your father... Blaise is right. He's-"

"He's my father, Pansy," Draco said tiredly.

"I know-"

"And there's also my mother. And you, and my whole life, and... and everything..." he trailed off. "But... but I can't..." His voice broke and he leaned his forehead against the window, covering his mouth with his hand as his blue eyes filled and a sob escaped him. Pansy put her arms around him and pulled him close, and he buried his face in her hair, his shoulders shaking.

"Shh..." she soothed him and tried to swallow past the ache in her throat as he finally let go. Because he was right, there was no good way through this. No matter what happened, this was going to hurt. It already hurt.

Bloody fucking bastard Lucius Malfoy, she thought bitterly as Draco clung to her and she gently stroked his unfamiliar red hair, his sobs shaking them both. Wishing she had Lucius before her right now, so she could teach him a few things about being on the receiving end of an Unforgivable or two.

She looked up at Granger, standing helplessly, and nodded at her to go to Potter's bedside while she dealt with Draco. No sense having her just standing there like a lump, and Draco was going to be mightily embarrassed when he got himself under control again if Granger was still hovering around watching him fall apart.

Granger nodded, then looked up as the hospital door opened and two students walked in. Draco took a gulping breath and struggled to pull himself together, and suddenly Granger was right next to them.

"Sorry, visitors," Granger murmured, putting an arm around Draco, and Pansy was about to elbow her away when she realized that of course, it would look a little odd for people to come in and see Ron Weasley being comforted by his little sister while his girlfriend stood stoically by.

"Ron... you all right?" said Stephen Cornfoot, after seeing that Potter was asleep and leaving a set of notes on his night table.

Draco cleared his throat, hastily wiping his face and pulling away from Pansy and Granger. "Yeah, all right."

"How's Harry doing?"

Granger shook her head, and Justin Finch-Fletchley pressed his lips together grimly.

"Look mate... he'll pull through," he said awkwardly. "He's the Boy Who Lived, you know? No matter what weird shit he gets hit with, he walks away from it."

Granger gave him a small smile.

"Or you'll figure something out," he said. "You will. You and Granger, you're always pulling his arse out of the fire. You did it with both of them back in November, you can do it with this." He gave Draco an awkward clap on the back.

"Speaking of last November, has Malfoy been around?" asked Cornfoot. Pansy sucked her breath in and felt Draco tense up next to her, but Granger's expression didn't flicker as she shook her head.

"No, I didn't think so. Bloody hell," Finch-Fletchley said, shaking his head in disgust, and Pansy's hands balled into fists as she watched Draco's lips press together, bracing for the pinhead Mudblood Hufflepuff's inevitable denouncement of Draco's lack of attendance at Potter's bedside. "Never thought I'd feel sympathy for Draco fucking Malfoy, you know?" he mused, gazing at Harry. "Poor bastard. You're keeping him up-to-date, though, right?"

Granger made a noncommittal sound.

"Listen, if Harry wants to send him a note or anything, I can - well, no, I probably couldn't-"

"I could pass anything you wanted," Cornfoot said. "I'm his Charms partner anyway, it would just look like class notes. He's... he's worried as hell. Hardly said two words yesterday in class."

Pansy met Draco's eyes. Good; Weasley and company were sticking to plan.

"Hasn't said much since that whole disowning thing anyway," Finch-Fletchley commented. "God, that was ugly," he shuddered. "What kind of arsehole does that to his own son?"

"Don't tell me Muggles never disown their children," Pansy said, managing to not insert a contemptuous tone into Ginny Weasley's voice at the last moment, but Finch-Fletchley didn't seem to notice.

"No, they do, just... doing it in public like that, it was fucking sick." He paused, shrugged. "Then again, a lot of Muggles would've done it just because they found out their son was dating another bloke. Pot calling the kettle black, I suppose. Though you could've knocked me over with a feather when that Prophet came out."

"What, Malfoy and Harry back together?" Cornfoot chuckled. "Didn't surprise me."

"Really? I never would've imagined it. What with his family and all."

"He's not his dad, thank god," said Cornfoot. "Though I doubt his dad knows that. Not sure even he knows that."

"Too right. Speaking of, d'you think it's true, what was in the Quibbler yesterday? That that bastard's involved in this?"

"Harry's curse cast by Lucius Malfoy?" Granger shrugged. "Who knows. I'm sure the Aurors are on the case."

"Oh so he can rest easy, then. Can't find their pricks with both hands and a Locator spell, those idiots," Cornfoot said scornfully.

"Listen, we have class now, but tell Harry we came to see him and brought him his Transfigurations notes," said Finch-Fletchley. "And you let us know if there's anything we can do, right?" He clapped Draco on the back again. "He'll pull through, Weasley. He will. Granger's on the case."

Pansy gave a sigh of relief as they left, and turned as Potter stirred on the bed behind them. Draco wiped his eyes impatiently and cleared his throat, returning to Potter's side.

"Still you?" Potter asked, and peered at him more closely as he nodded. "What's wrong?"

Draco shook his head, taking Potter's hand, and looked up as the door opened again and Blaise and Ginny Weasley came in - and then Ron Weasley's polyjuiced form appeared from underneath Potter's invisibility cloak, once they'd ascertained that the coast was clear. Blaise cast a ward behind them, making sure that nobody would see Draco in the hospital.

Pansy felt an unpleasant displacement at seeing herself across the room, straight dark hair, upturned nose and all. Smooth, fine quality robes, not the worn and patched rubbish she and Draco were currently wearing. It was incredibly disorienting. She wondered if Draco was used to it yet.

The Weasleys approached, and it was so odd, seeing Draco's face with Weasley's expressions on it. Weasley's eyes widened slightly, then softened in sympathy as he took in Draco's red-rimmed eyes and flushed face.

"It's almost time, Malfoy," said Weasley. "He'll be here soon. Are you... you all right?

Draco nodded quickly.

"Switching time again?" Potter said, smiling slightly. "Who are you going to be this time?"

"Longbottom."

Potter snickered. "Good. Him I can take. You as Seamus is just a little too weird. I keep expecting him to show up and have a heart attack seeing himself holding my hand."

Draco chuckled. "Don't give me ideas, I might decide to snog you senseless right in front of him while I still look like him."

"Please, Draco, at least wait until I'm out of the room before saying something like that," said Pansy with a shudder, passing Ginny's Gryffindor tie back to her and nodding at Longbottom as he bypassed the wards and entered the hospital wing. "I'll have nightmares for a week."

"You and me both," said Weasley, and they all winced as the transformations started.

Ugh. What a disturbing process, every time. And Draco had been doing it several times a day for the last three days. She waited for him to complete his swap with Longbottom before giving him a hug and patting his arm. "I'll be back after class, darling. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"No thanks, we're fine." He smiled at her tiredly, and she gazed at him worriedly for a moment before leaving with Blaise and a cloaked and polyjuiced Longbottom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, in case anyone's wondering: Veelafics? Are my favourite mind-candy. Most especially Dracoisaveelaandharryishismate :)


	21. March 22 - March 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, last chapter of the story, and therefore, last part with plottybits. After this, there's just the epilogue. Oh, and a few files called "Bond DVD Extras" (deleted scenes & such), really only of interest to people who really liked Bond, which will (hopefully) go up in the next few days.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the ride!

**Day 175, Monday**

Snape glanced at the clock, hoping his nervousness wasn't showing on his face. Glanced over at Draco, who was looking slightly ill, for good reason. This meeting...

This was probably one of the trickiest and most delicate positions he'd ever been in, in all of his years working for the Order. Because on the one hand, he was supposed to be a Death Eater who had to help make sure Draco did not do anything foolish to try to save Potter. That's what they all - including Draco - expected him to do.

But on the other hand, he was supposed to be helping the Boy Who Lived maintain his ridiculous title. Giving polyjuice to Granger and Weasley had been distasteful enough, knowing that Draco was going to use it to be with Potter without anybody finding out. Even thinking of trying to nudge Draco towards binding himself to Potter was... quite revolting. No matter how Draco felt about the boy.

Fortunately, his job had been made immeasurably easier by Lucius Malfoy himself, damn him. His heavy-handedness had all but delivered Draco up to Potter in a gift box. All that was missing was the bow, and Snape had a feeling that might be provided today. Snape still shuddered at the memory of Draco's wide grey eyes in the Great Hall, fixed on the Howler as it destroyed him piece by piece. Snape's own heart had been in his mouth the entire time, as Lucius made all of Draco's worst fears come true at once. Shamed him past redemption with his peers, took away almost everything that meant anything to him, and cut him to the bone with his rejection.

And then, the mark he'd put on Draco... Snape felt physically ill when he thought of it. Death Eater though he had been, he could not imagine doing anything like that to another human being. Especially one who trusted and looked up to him, as Draco had trusted and looked up to Lucius, for no good reason Snape could fathom.

'Had' being the operative word. Whatever trust and admiration had been there had been shattered, as far as Snape could tell. And that wasn't all that Lucius had shattered. Draco himself had been... broken ever since then. A non-entity among his fellow Slytherins. Subdued, withdrawn, almost indifferent to the world around him. And he'd gone back to Potter immediately, risking his father's displeasure carelessly. There could be no greater proof of the loss of Draco's filial devotion than that.

And now Draco wanted to help Potter, and was willing to risk Lucius' wrath again, if necessary, to do it. It should be no surprise to anybody. Except Lucius, of course. Lucius would probably never understand, and never understand that his own actions had pushed Draco to where he was now.

Lucius would never understand his own son, never understand that their resemblances were merely skin-deep. Draco would never be as intelligent, shrewd, strong, or heartless as his father, and Lucius would never be able to forgive him for that. Once again, Snape cursed Lucius for not having had the foresight to transfer the boy to Durmstrang, if he was going to use the bond to kill Potter. Because it took exceptional callousness to watch somebody you cared about slowly die while you held their salvation in your hands, and Draco just didn't have what it took.

Snape looked thoughtfully at Draco, sitting nervously on the couch, waiting for his parents to arrive. Observed his quick and shallow breathing, his gaze glued to the floor, and was disturbed to note that he was almost having a panic attack at the thought of facing his own father. And yet he was stubbornly forcing down his fear, steadying himself for the confrontation, for Potter's sake.

This was possibly the one good thing Lucius had done in this whole situation, Snape mused. Forced Draco to show some courage, for the first time in his life.

Draco's breath caught as the fireplace flashed and Lucius came through it, landing gracefully on his feet and stepping away to allow Narcissa to follow. They both dusted themselves off, identical expressions of distaste for the common mode of transportation they were forced to take - the only way to get directly into Hogwarts.

They exchanged minimal greetings with Draco and Snape before Lucius turned directly to the matter at hand.

"I must admit I was surprised to get your owl, Draco. To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"You know that the Aurors have figured out what's going on with Potter, with the bond," Draco said, getting right to the point but unable to meet his father's eyes.

"Yes."

"They don't have all the proof they need yet, about who did it and how, but they will soon."

"And?"

"Father... aren't you worried? You could be arrested for being involved in this."

"I would like to see them try. Nothing ties me to McKay or Colchis. I made every effort to have Healer Esposito there for your unbonding."

After making her sick, no doubt, Snape thought to himself.

"You could be arrested," Draco said, his voice low. "Again."

"I'm not particularly worried."

"Why not?"

"Because after the Dark Lord has triumphed, it won't matter any more."

Draco nodded. "I've been asked to be near Potter as much as possible, until they figure out some way to help him. What should I do?"

Lucius shrugged. "Go along with it. It won't make much difference."

Draco nodded and took a deep breath before carefully broaching the next topic. "Just how close are we to the Dark Lord's victory, Father?"

Lucius smiled. "As soon as Potter dies, the Dark Lord will take over."

There was a silence. "That's... it? That's the big plan?" Draco asked slowly. "Killing Harry Potter? That's what's so important?"

"It-"

"That's all the Dark Lord is waiting for, for one person to die - one  _boy_  to die?" Draco finally met Lucius' eyes, an incredulous expression on his face.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, but nodded calmly.

"And what's he going to do after that? Is he going to assume control of the Ministry of Magic? Storm Hogwarts? He still has to get past Dumbledore, you know. Not to mention Aurors, and all sorts of other people. What's going to happen after that?" Draco's agitation was rising, and it seemed he was starting to forget his fear of his father for a moment.

A fact that was not lost on Lucius. His eyes narrowed and his tone, when he spoke, was several degrees colder than before. "Draco, this is not truly any of your business. There is a fine line between being understandably interested in these events and meddling where you are not welcome. You have crossed it."

Draco swallowed hard, dropped his eyes to the floor. He took a deep breath, and then another, visibly gathering his courage for what he was about to say next.

"Father. Is there... is there any way to make this...  _not_  depend on Potter dying?"

An astonished stillness settled into the room.

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius finally said, his voice very quiet. Draco paled noticeably, but stood firm.

"I... I'm sure there are a lot of detailed plans in place, to take over offices, take control of powerful magical items, all of that. I just... is it absolutely necessary to have all of it depend on Harry's death?"

"It's  _Harry_  now, is it?" Lucius said mildly, and Draco's face coloured.

"I... yes." He swallowed nervously. "He - I... you know my loyalty is with our family. That's my first priority. Always," he said firmly. "But. He's... I-I care about him." He gulped and spoke rapidly. "I didn't mean to - I know I failed you, I should've stayed away from him after we were unbonded, and, and I'm not putting him above our family or the Dark Lord or, or anything like that, but, but-" He took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down. "I don't want to see him die. He doesn't have that much power; he's nothing special. Our side is strong, we can do what needs to be done without killing him."

Lucius seemed stunned into speechlessness, and Draco hadn't looked up from the floor the entire time. He looked for all the world like he desperately wanted to run away, but was refusing to allow himself to do so.

Snape and Narcissa exchanged a worried look, and Snape nodded unobtrusively towards Lucius.

Narcissa pursed her lips and put a hand on Lucius' arm. "Draco, I don't think you understand how much planning has gone into this."

"I, I don't," Draco admitted. "I'm just asking - is there any way to-"

"No, absolutely not," Lucius said, finally finding his voice. "That you even dare to ask-"

"Darling, it's not that difficult to understand," Narcissa said calmly. "Draco did exactly what he was supposed to during his bond, and things progressed as they were supposed to. This is what a bond spell is supposed to do, after all: create commitment between the spouses. As it did with us. Lucius, please. Draco is not doing anything wrong by asking."

Lucius glared at his wife as though he very much wanted to hex her, but managed a tight nod. "You have asked," he said to Draco coldly. "And the answer is no. In any case, there is nothing to be done, even if I wished to do it."

"Can... Father, if there was - if the Dark Lord needs him out of the way, he could be incarcerated somewhere, or stripped of his magic, or-"

"Draco-"

"Lucius." Narcissa's hand tightened on her husband's arm as her calm voice cut into what promised to be a rather impressive display of rage. "Please. They were married, it's understandable that he would-"

"Be devastated at the thought of losing his ex-spouse?" Lucius said contemptuously. "Most people would be thrilled."

"He is not most people, Lucius," Snape said quickly. "He's just a boy. This wasn't-"

"Father... I, I was too young to bond," Draco interrupted him, looking up again. "And too young to break the bond. And I didn't mean to - but I was with him for four months, and I thought it was permanent-"

"I told you that I was making every effort."

"Even your best efforts don't always work out," Draco said, and Snape winced as the very plain reference to Azkaban came out. Draco seemed to shrink into an even more defensive stance, trembling as Lucius frowned at him.

"Lucius - please, don't be angry at him," Narcissa said gently, and then pulled Lucius a little bit farther away from Draco and Snape. She leaned closer to him, speaking quietly and urgently into his ear, and Snape slowly released his breath as Lucius' expression went from tightly controlled anger to something resembling understanding and compassion.

Thank god for Narcissa. And thank god that Lucius' arrogance had never permitted him to realize what Snape had figured out a long time ago: that Narcissa's almost magical ability to calm him down at times of great stress was just that, magic. Harmony Charm. It had to be used sparingly so that Lucius wouldn't start to clue in to it, but when she did use it, it was a godsend.

Draco took a deep breath, meeting his father's eyes. "Please, Dad. I can't just watch him die."

Lucius' face was sympathetic, but firm. "Then don't watch," he said calmly.

Draco turned away, rubbing his forehead, and Snape could almost feel his despair. He must have known this was futile. Before ever coming here, he'd known that there was nothing to be done, but he'd had to try.

"I'll - I believe in the Dark Lord's work. You know I do. But isn't there any way of-"

"You know that he has to die. There are sacrifices that need to be made. I sacrificed myself, spent ten months in that prison, for this cause. For you, and for children like you, who deserve a world not polluted by Mudbloods and weakness."

"Father-"

"I am sorry, Draco," Lucius said, his tone eminently reasonable, almost kind. "You are right, you were too young for all of this. But you did not have a choice about what happened then, and you do not have a choice now. Potter will die, and that is unfortunate, and your mother and I will do what we can to make this easier for you, but there is nothing we can do to prevent it."

"I could bond with him," Draco blurted out, and kept talking quickly, averting his eyes from the stunned look on Lucius' face. "I-I don't mean a real marriage, I wouldn't want that, but if - if I bonded with him and nobody but us knew about it, we could get him out of the way somehow, and the Dark Lord would still-"

Narcissa put her hand on Draco's, stopping his words. "Love, that kind of thing couldn't remain secret for long. And if the Dark Lord ever found out-"

"If you allied yourself to Potter, you would be putting yourself in danger," Snape pointed out.

"I'm not talking about being allied to him - I wouldn't even be near him-"

"Absolutely not," Lucius said. "The risks are too great. You already put our entire family in danger with your behaviour once; disowning you was almost the only thing I could do to regain the Dark Lord's trust and appease his anger at you."

"You disowned me to save me from myself?" Draco said softly, a glimmer of anger in his voice.

"Would you rather I had allowed you to conduct yourself in a manner that was almost guaranteed to get you killed?"

"You allowed me to stay bonded to Harry for almost two months after you'd found McKay. I could've died in that time, if the Dark Lord had moved against him."

"Yes. I know. It was not a delay I relished, believe me. But we had to plan for the counter spell, and it was not easy. It involved wandless magic, putting certain people into position to help us, distracting anybody who might stop us, all sorts of charms applied to Potter, to keep him from feeling pain when others touched him, keep him from declining too soon after the unbonding..." Lucius paused. "It was all extremely difficult and precise work. You can imagine my concern when he didn't deteriorate according to plan. He was supposed to decline much faster, once enough time had passed that we thought nobody would connect his illness with the unbonding." His voice hardened. "Then I saw the pictures that were sent to the Prophet."

Draco swallowed hard and looked down, and Snape felt a prickle of apprehension at the resentful clench of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes.

"You put us all in danger. The Dark Lord would never have let you live if not for me."

"What does that tell you about him?" Draco said, his resentment beginning to bubble up.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He was angry at me for spoiling his plans? Angry enough to kill me, even though I'd no idea I was doing anything against him?" He shook his head, meeting his father's eyes defiantly. "He's a raving lunatic, is what he is." Lucius' face quickly went from compassionate to enraged. He made a small movement and Draco gasped, bringing a hand up to the mark on his chest, as Snape and Narcissa started in alarm.

"He is," Draco repeated stubbornly. "How can you follow somebody like him?" He gasped again, his face paling, and Narcissa grabbed Lucius' shoulder. "A man who just kills anybody who gets in his way, whether they mean to or not?"

"We follow him in the hope of a better future for ourselves and our children. Children like  _you_ ," Lucius pointed out in disgust.

"Children like Cedric Diggory?" Draco shot back.

"Draco!" Snape exclaimed.

Lucius' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Cedric Diggory was an unfortunate casualty of war."

"His blood was as pure as yours or mine. And purer than Voldemort's."

Snape and Narcissa stiffened and glanced at each other in dismay. "Do not say his name," hissed Lucius.

"I'll say his name if I want to!"

"You are an embarrassment to-"

"You're the one who's following a half-blood lunatic!"

"You would rather we rallied behind a stupid half-blood child?"

"Harry's not insane!"

" _Harry_  will lose."

"And if he does, d'you really think the wizarding world will be better off? You know exactly what kind of man Voldemort is. You're afraid of him, but you still serve him."

"I would rather serve him than be killed by him, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe if less people thought that way, he wouldn't be able to hurt anybody."

"Spare me your ridiculous sentimentality. You have clearly spent far too long in the company of Gryffindors." Lucius rose gracefully and took a handful of floo powder. "This discussion is over. You will conduct yourself as befits a member of our family, and you will not do _anything_  to disrupt our plans. And if I hear that you have been near Potter, you will regret it. You will inform Madam Pomfrey and the other authority figures in this school that you will not be available to ease Potter's discomfort from the bond. I do not care how you do it, you  _will_  do it. Is that clear?"

Draco glared at him, and Lucius whispered a word that made Draco's face pale and his breath catch in pain as he covered the mark on his chest. He stared at his father a moment longer, his lips pressed together, then let out his breath and bowed his head, giving in.

"Come, Narcissa," Lucius said sternly as he stepped into the floo. "Malfoy Manor," he said, and disappeared.

Draco turned to Narcissa. "Mum..."

"Draco, please-"

"Please... can't you talk to him?"

"I can't. You know that."

"I..."

"Your father is right. This is regrettable, but-"

Draco rubbed his forehead, fighting to maintain his composure. Narcissa gently stroked his hair, exchanging a concerned look with Snape.

"Love... you aren't going to do anything about this, are you?"

"What?"

"Anything to go against your father's wishes," said Snape.

"It would - for one thing it would be terribly dangerous," Narcissa said. "And for another thing it would break his heart."

Draco made a sound of disgust. "Wouldn't he have to have one first?"

"Draco!"

"Break his - don't give me that rubbish!" Draco said angrily. "He's perfectly happy to toss me right out if-"

"He was hurt! You had betrayed him - his own son-"

"He was pissed because I went against him. That wasn't hurt that had him disown me, it was just spite!"

"You don't know what the Dark Lord-"

"He didn't do it for the Dark Lord - he was still supposed to be a sort of double agent for him. It didn't look terribly convincing when he disowned me in public just for being with Voldemort's enemy."

"Draco-" Snape began.

"He could've punished me in any other way, if he was hurt. Instead he did it publicly - I didn't even have a fucking  _name_ -"

"He was angry," said Narcissa, "and he did some things he shouldn't have. But he loves you."

"That's not love, that's-"

"Do you think that Potter boy loves you?" Narcissa said shrewdly, and he frowned at her. "He only wants you because he's under a spell. That's not real."

"It's as real as your bond with Father," he shot back. "You taught me that the kind of love that grows out of that is more real than what happens when two people say they're in love but know nothing about what love really means."

"You weren't together long enough. Do you think he'd give up everything to be with you, as you're thinking of doing for him? Do you think he'd sacrifice anything for you? You're the enemy, to him."

"You don't know him at all."

"Draco-"

"Did you know that I went back to him after Father burned his bloody brand on me?" Narcissa's eyes grew wide. "We were together for another week-"

"How could you-"

"-and then Harry broke up with me. Not being around me was making him ill, he had the bond screaming at him that he had to stay close, and even feeling the way he did, he sent me away, because he didn't want me to get hurt again."

His mother stared at him.

"No, I won't go against Father again," Draco said bitterly. "He's spoken and I bloody well have to obey him whether I want to or not. But he can't force me to like it." He grimaced in disgust. "And he can't force me to think he's anything other than... fucking pathetic."

**ooooooo**

**176, Tuesday**

Draco stared at the page before him. No idea where he was in this class. He'd missed three days of school, sitting by Harry's bedside, and unfamiliar handwriting stared back at him from his notebooks. Weasley, Longbottom, Finnigan, and Thomas; each boy had left his mark on the pages before him, and Draco idly tried to match the writing to the writers. Weasley's was the easiest, being the most plentiful. And he was fairly sure that Longbottom was the author of the neat but somewhat confusing mental meanderings on page 13. But the spare, beautiful script on page 14, and the untidy loops and doodles on page 17 - he had no idea which was Thomas' and which was Finnigan's. Not that it really mattered.

Harry was recovering from his latest bout of devastating nausea, a new dose of No-Sick potion in him, sleeping comfortably for once, and Draco had needed to get away - from Harry, from the damned hospital that had formed so much of his year so far, from the disorienting lack of familiarity with his own voice and shape. Back to his own body, his own world, back to where he would be soon enough anyway. Granger had come to class as well, Weasley opting to stay with Harry while he slept.

And now Draco sat at the edge of the Slytherin contingent, Pansy beside him and Blaise beside her, and nobody but them and the members of the Gryffindor Polyjuice Squad were even aware that he'd been away.

Snape was somewhat subdued today. As were most of the students. They had all heard that there was something seriously wrong with Harry, and all guessed that it had something to do with the Dark Lord. Queenie and Nott wore looks of barely controlled joy. Millicent's square features were faintly pleased. Crabbe and Goyle just looked vaguely confused, as usual.

Draco idly listed the ingredients to a potion they'd learned in first term as Snape droned on about... whatever the hell the topic was today. His mind still back in the hospital wing, where slowly but surely, Harry was going downhill. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even in a week, but soon, the end would come for him - so much sooner than it should. What Draco and his family had wanted to happen for so long was going to happen. Harry was going to die, and then they'd take their rightful places. As Draco had been raised to hope for, to work for.

It was what his world needed, he'd been taught to believe from infancy. So that it would once more be a strong world, where pure blood counted for something, where magical power counted for something. Where strength and cunning and tradition were honoured instead of being shunted aside contemptuously by people like Dumbledore and his minions and Muggle-born pets.

It was a world worthy of his love and admiration - a world of wealth and prestige and power, of culture and refinement. The world of the Manor, the European estates, the halls of his ancestors. The world of his parents, Pansy, Blaise, even Crabbe and Goyle.

And Queenie and Nott, he reminded himself bitterly. And Archer and Edgars and their ilk. A world where he'd disgraced himself almost past redemption. Where his peers were only now beginning to acknowledge his existence again. Where he would never, thanks to Harry and to his father, have the same position as he'd had before. Not unless he decided to fight tooth and nail for it, throw his entire life into the game, and claw his way back to where he'd once been.

Which was what his father expected him to do. What everybody who knew him expected him to do, though of course the Gryffindors were hoping he'd choose otherwise.

It all came down to a choice. He could let events proceed as they were proceeding, and help the world he loved, and try to earn his place in it once more; regain his father's love and trust, regain the respect and admiration of his peers. Or he could save Harry's life and live with the consequences, with regrets and might-have-beens. It felt like his heart was being pulled in two different directions, stretched to breaking, and he couldn't see any way of reconciling them.

Because there was no way of reconciling them. Hard as this was, he had to make his choice.

His choice. Not his father's.

He took a deep breath, put down his quill and stood up, making his way out of the Potions classroom, Granger and Pansy immediately scrambling up to join him.

Snape stopped speaking and frowned as the rest of the class turned around. "Where do you three think you're going?"

"Out, sir," Pansy said shortly, and they didn't pause to listen to Snape's indignant exclamations.

"Are you sure about this?" Pansy asked as they approached the hospital.

"Yes."

Pansy swallowed hard and put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him at the hospital door. "If you bond with him, it's for life. The man who cast the spell is gone. He can't undo it. You can't undo it."

"I know."

Granger spoke up hesitantly. "He's... he's not dying yet. He's just sick. He could get better, he's got Healers looking after him, they could find a cure-"

"They won't."

"Draco..." said Pansy.

"Pansy, I can't stay with my father, not after everything that's happened. I have to do this."

Pansy nodded, letting go of him and motioning them into the hospital. "So, still ready to be my contact?" she said with a half-smile.

"Still ready."

They entered the hospital wing and Weasley looked up from the Charms text he was reading, and Draco had the distinct pleasure of seeing Weasley's mouth drop open as he visibly worked out what it meant that Draco was in the hospital without any disguise or concealment.

Harry opened his eyes as Draco approached his bed, and stared at him in slight puzzlement.

"Yeah, it's actually me," Draco said, amused, realizing that Harry was probably confused as hell trying to remember whether it was really Weasley next to him or a polyjuiced Draco.

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving your arse," Draco said grimly.

"But somebody could see you-"

"Yeah, they probably could. Let me connect the dots for you," Draco said briskly. "I'm going to re-enter the bond. So people knowing I'm visiting you in the hospital is actually not my biggest concern right now."

Harry sat up quickly and Draco stepped forward to catch him. "Careful. I don't particularly want you to spew on me on our wedding day."

"Draco, I can't let you-"

"Shut up. I'm assuming you still have the bond book?" Draco asked Granger, and she nodded, scrambling to find it in her schoolbag and flipping it open.

"Do you want - erm, I mean, there's different versions for-"

"Whatever gets this over and done with the fastest."

Harry was shaking his head stubbornly. "I can't let you do this."

"You pillock, I want to."

"You don't have to do this because you feel sorry for-"

"Bloody hell, Harry. D'you think I'm proposing some kind of extended pity-fuck? How long have you known me, d'you really think I'd selflessly sacrifice myself just because I feel bad for you? What kind of Gryffindor do you take me for?"

"You don't want this. If I weren't ill, you wouldn't be thinking of doing it."

"Maybe. But you are. And I want to help. For me, because I like having you around."

Harry looked down. "This isn't... this isn't the way marriage is supposed to be."

"Stop thinking like a bloody Muggle," Draco said impatiently.

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily.

Draco sat back. "You can't believe I'm choosing this, can you?"

"No. Because you're not."

Draco scowled at him, then shook his shoulder in annoyance. "Stupid fucking Gryffindor. You won't believe me, and you won't let me do this, and you'll die because you're too proud to take help that's offered. And even if I do convince you to let me do it, you'll think for the rest of our lives that I only did it to save you." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking for a moment, then turned to Granger.

"Granger. Give that here." He plucked the book from her hands and started flipping through it.

"What-" Harry began.

"You won't believe me unless I have all the right flowery words, so all right. I'll say them. And maybe you'll get it through your thick head that I actually want this."

Harry was looking at him with a faintly stunned expression as Draco glanced over the most appropriate spell, quickly skimming through the words to familiarize himself with them.

"Here. Granger, hold it up - actually, no, Weasley, hold the book, Granger, you're good at Truthspell Charms, aren't you?" Granger nodded uncertainly, and Draco gave her a curt nod, taking Harry's hands in his, and waited for her to cast the spell.

"Lumos Veritas," she said, and a soft glow appeared at the end of her wand, slowly floating itself over to Draco.

"Get that thing out of my face," he said impatiently, and Granger obligingly moved it so that it lit them from above.

"You're really-" Harry began.

" _Yes_ , for God's sake. Now listen up, because I'm only ever going to say this once." He took a deep breath and began, gazing steadily into Harry's eyes.

 _I bond myself to you. I give you all that I am, for the rest of our lives._  
I bond myself to you. I do so freely, and with no regrets.  
I bond myself to you, because I wish to spend my life with you.  
I bond myself to you, because I love you.  
I bond myself to you.

There was a profound stillness as he finished, and he could feel Pansy and Granger and Weasley's incredulous stares, but they didn't matter. What mattered was that Harry was gazing at him in awe, his mouth hanging slightly open and his face gradually losing its unhealthy pallor, and a trickle of his emotions was starting to flow from him to Draco.

"There. D'you believe me  _now_ , you stupid git?" But he didn't really need to ask the question, Draco realized, as the trickle became a torrent - a lot of very strong feelings Draco really couldn't sort out, with his own in such an uproar, but looming large among them was stunned wonder as he realized how Draco felt about him.

"I... I guess so," Harry said unsteadily.

"Granger." Draco nodded at their hands, still clasped together. "Do the-"

"No wait," said Harry, and Draco blew out his breath impatiently. "Ron, can you tilt the book this way?"

"You don't have to say anything, the bond's already become active again-"

"I know, but I'm not going to get married twice without saying a word," Harry said a little waspishly, and nodded at Weasley to hold the book so he could see it. He took a steadying breath, and began the incantation.

_I bond myself to you. I give you all that I am, for the rest of our lives.  
I bond myself to you. I-_

Harry paused, looked up at the Truthlight, gave Draco a rueful smile. "I don't do so freely. But I would if I could, with no regrets." And he grinned, apparently catching Draco's shock as the Truthlight shone on without a flicker.

 _I bond myself to you, because I wish to spend my life with you._  
I bond myself to you, because I love you.  
I bond myself to you.

They all let out their breaths, and Draco nodded at Granger. She pointed her wand at their wrists.

"Lux Vinculum," she said softly, and the band of knotwork appeared, shining brightly around both of their wrists. Draco squeezed Harry's hand, a tight feeling in his chest as Harry's eyes filled with tears, and ran his free hand up to Harry's cheek, suddenly at a complete loss for words.

Granger quietly waved her wand and the shining band disappeared, and Draco pulled Harry into his arms, both of them trembling from the emotion and the relief of a bond finally restored. Feeling Harry's heart beating against his, both hearts racing - as if they'd both just caught the Snitch, he thought vaguely, and almost laughed out loud at the image.

They held each other for a long moment, then the profound silence was broken by a very audible sniffle.

"Weasley?" Pansy chuckled, her own voice tight, and Weasley quickly wiped his eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly. "Always cry at weddings."

**ooooooo**

"All right, well," Esposito said at the end of the day, putting down her wand and making a couple of notations on a scroll. "It seems everything's in order."

"The bond's all right?" Harry asked, sitting up on the hospital bed.

"Yes, fine," she said absently, still writing. "It might have been slightly more prudent to wait until I could help you through it, but it's not actually that difficult a spell to cast, for willing participants." She turned towards Draco, standing at the window. "You did a good job, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you."

"And I don't just mean the spell-casting itself," she added pointedly. Draco nodded, slightly uncomfortable. "It was a good idea for you to repeat the incantation as well, Mr. Potter," she added. "It wasn't necessary, but it probably helped to strengthen and stabilize the bond a little more."

"Oh," Harry said, a bit surprised.

"Not to mention it probably helped the non-magical aspect of all of this." She gave them both a warm smile. "Well. I'll be off, then. Best of luck to you both. You know how to reach me if you need to."

"Thank you, Healer," Harry said.

"You're welcome, gentlemen," she said, grinning at them and shouldering her bag before heading off.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked, getting up and joining Draco at the windowsill, putting his arms around him and pulling Draco back to rest against him. Marvelling at the glory that was being able to move around without needing to puke his guts out.

Draco nodded absently, staring out at the Quidditch pitch.

"No regrets?"

"No. Well... not about what I did. Just that it had to be like this."

"You know if your father activates that mark, it's going to-"

"Yeah, I know."

"Hermione'll help all she can. She's - if anyone can get you through it-"

"I know." He sighed. "How long do you think it'll take Dumbledore to get Aurors in here?"

"Not long. You're still sure you want to go through with that?"

"The sooner I tell everything I know about Voldemort and his followers, the more pointless it'll be for them to kill me."

"But are you sure you can do that without betraying your father?"

Draco heaved a deep breath and shook his head.

"Do you want me there? I might be able to help keep the Aurors from digging where you don't want them to."

"All right."

There was a short pause. "You still believe in your father's cause, though," Harry said quietly.

Draco sighed. "I don't even know any more," he admitted slowly. "If nothing else, it's hard to have a Muggle-born pseudo-officiate at your wedding and not feel a little kindly towards her."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose so."

"I'll never be a big fan of the Muggle-born community, though."

"I know," Harry nodded. "You... you know that I still have to-"

"I know. You'll have to do... what you have to do. Just not right away." He swallowed hard. "I'll help you, when the time comes. I learned a lot from my father. It'll make things more difficult for them."

"Are you sure?"

"I didn't bond to you so I could get killed if you die. I didn't even bond to you in order to wait a few years and have you get killed when it can't affect me any more."

"You're not into this kind of thing, are you? This war and hero thing?"

"Not much, no."

"Neither am I."

Draco gave an offended little huff. "Please. You're the most annoyingly heroic person I know."

Harry laughed and rested his chin on Draco's shoulder, looking out at the pitch, smiling as Draco moved his head to the side in a clear signal to Harry to kiss him.

This felt so right, Draco in his arms like this, he thought as he nuzzled the side of his neck. It wasn't that he thought they were going to live happily ever after; there was no such thing. And it wasn't that Draco had suddenly become convinced of the rightness of Harry's side in this war. He was still reluctant, still ambivalent about the whole thing. But now that winning involved his own welfare, Draco would be a good ally for their side. A good mind, practical, and fairly strong and skilled at magic. He'd also give Harry that extra bonus of the solid base of their bond to steady him. And Harry figured he should probably look up that whole "some magic is stronger with a bond" thing that Pomfrey had mentioned way back in September.

Harry frowned thoughtfully mid-nuzzle. What a... Slytherin way of looking at his new spouse.

He tightened his arms around Draco and smiled as Draco made a vague sound of contentment, and made himself dismiss thoughts of strategy and war and just let himself enjoy the moment. After so much trouble, so much conflict, such a bizarre history between the two of them, being together again like this felt as right as anything ever had. Because somehow, in the most unexpected person, he'd found exactly what he needed. Somebody to love. Somebody to protect, to fight for.

That was a little more Gryffindor-like, he decided, then smiled. Gryffindor and Slytherin impulses. Like Gryffindor and Slytherin people, they didn't necessarily have to be at odds.

And somehow, the future actually didn't seem that daunting any more.


	22. Epilogue, May 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to Calíope Amphora for amazing beta work :)
> 
> Slight warning: this is an epilogue, folks. Not really much new here in terms of plots, just tying up a few of the loose ends. Not all of them, because as a reader I feel a bit put off when writers tie up everything in a neat little bow; it makes me feel like there's no possible scope for the reader to imagine what might come next.
> 
> ...which means I'll probably be ticking off the readers who do appreciate everything being tied up neatly. So, to those readers: I'm sorry, guys. Wish I could please everybody, but I can't.

**Day 236, Saturday**

_Hufflepuff_ _: 380_   
_Ravenclaw: 370_   
_Gryffindor: 210_   
_Slytherin: 60_

Harry gave the large scoreboard at the edge of the pitch one last glance before shaking hands with Carmichael and beginning the last Quidditch game of the year, starring the two last-placed teams.

He looked at his team-mates and raised his eyebrows, seeing if they were still in accord, and they nodded back as one. The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff game had ended in a surprising 160/30 win for Ravenclaw, which meant that Gryffindor had a - very slim - chance of winning the Quidditch Cup. Had Hufflepuff won the last game, it would have been almost impossible to beat them, but today Gryffindor needed 180 points to reach the top spot. And his team-mates had voted to let him try to just keep the Snitch away from Slytherin until they had scored three goals.

Which wouldn't be easy. The Slytherin Keeper had vastly improved, and looked good to block just about anything, and Gryffindor's Chasers were not up to speed for this game. Ginny, Dean and Demelza Robins had been great together, but then Dean and Demelza had both been turned into newts during a Duelling Club practice, and their replacements were not of the same calibre. It would not be easy to keep the Snitch from being caught until Gryffindor got three goals. Then again, it was a rather dark, windy day for late May; maybe he'd get lucky and neither Seeker would be able to spot the Snitch for a while.

He looked up at Draco, getting into Seeker position above him, and grinned despite the dismal day. It was wonderful having him up here, considering all that had happened in the last few months. Draco had had to fight tooth and nail to not be replaced on the team as Slytherin house ripped itself apart after their re-bonding, especially since he hadn't gone back to live in his dorm. But in the end, he'd prevailed. And now here he was.

And here they were. Come full circle and playing a Seeker's Game.

And there was the Snitch, right over Slytherin's goal. Draco dove for it, Harry right behind, and they fought in the air, one overtaking the other, whirling around each other, and Draco almost had it - and then it turned on its wing and Draco cursed and almost crashed into a Gryffindor Chaser, and Harry swerved to avoid them both, and the Snitch was lost again.

Damn it.

Harry flew a little higher, looping around. Thank god the bond had subsided again, after two months, and they were able to do this without discomfort. It had been incredibly frustrating, for the first few weeks after the bond, to have to be together all the time again. Though it hadn't taken as long as they'd thought it would to be able to be apart again. Shagging regularly had gone a long way towards appeasing the bond's demand for closeness and, paradoxically, loosening it a bit. Not a bad deal, that.

The proximity hadn't been the worst problem, not by a long shot. It had not been an easy couple of months. The worst part, of course, had been that Lucius had indeed called Draco with his pseudo-Dark Mark, and Draco had refused his summons. For five hideous days that still gave both of them nightmares, Harry had held Draco while he suffered from the pain of the mark and Healers tried everything in their power to counteract it, with varying degrees of success.

And then the pain had stopped.

For reasons known only to himself, Lucius Malfoy had stopped his torment of Draco and left Voldemort's side. And with his top lieutenant gone, his grand gesture of killing The Boy Who Lived once again in shambles, several of his Death Eaters defecting, and his support dwindling, Voldemort had disappeared once more.

Which did not make anyone think for a moment that there was no more danger from him. One had only to look at the Aurors ringing the pitch today to see that. The Quidditch game was warded strongly, more strongly than anybody had ever seen it, on the assumption that having the Boy Who Lived or the Boy Who Bonded (the Ravenclaw who'd called him the Boy Who Loved in April had only just stopped mooing last week) killed in mid-air would really be a bit of a downer for the end of the school year.

There! The Snitch! Harry and Draco raced towards it, once more whirling over and under one another, and Smith was going insane trying to keep up with the commentary.

"Potter takes the lead - he's clinch- no, he's lost it - oh, close one! And now Slytherin's Seeker closes in on - Potter attempting a Marlowe Roll - Slytherin Chaser Donohue scores! 10 - 0 for Slytherin, and the Snitch is lost, both Seekers are back to the skies..."

Harry shook his head at the murmur from the stands, as the Slytherin crowd didn't know whether to cheer or jeer. Months after the bonding, they were still conflicted, though less so than they had been at the beginning.

When Draco had gone to Harry's side, it had been a big loss for Voldemort's forces, because if even the son of Voldemort's right-hand man could defy him and side with Harry, it didn't exactly look like a ringing endorsement of Voldemort's power. Made him look just a bit pathetic, actually. Add to that the fact that with Draco's defection, Harry had gained an ally who knew a fair bit about Voldemort's followers and their methods, was a relatively skilled wizard himself, and could provide Harry with the added strength of a bond... and then with Lucius Malfoy gone as well... the political upheaval had been intense, and it had played itself out within Slytherin house as nowhere else in the school. Every day, for weeks, families were deciding their loyalties and affecting their children's school relationships. And, to a lesser extent, their children returned the favour, with more than a few Slytherin students effectively bringing their families over to one side or the other based on their own school alliances.

Snitch sighted again, and he dove for it, reaching it a split second before Draco and needing all of his skill to keep Draco away from it and all his self-discipline to keep himself from grabbing it.

"And Potter lets the Snitch go! Looks like Gryffindor's interested in winning more than just this game! Third placed team, let's see if they have a chance; Potter's going to have some trouble, Black almost had it there-"

Draco pulled up near him, angry. "Trying to win the Cup, are you?" he yelled over the wind.

"We've more of a chance than you do," Harry shouted back.

"Fuck you, you arrogant shit!" Draco yelled, and Harry cheerfully gave him the two-fingered salute and resumed looking for the Snitch.

"Gryffindor Seeker makes rude gesture towards the Slytherin Seeker," Smith said, and a wave of laughter rose from the stands. "Right, gentlemen, let's keep domestic squabbles off the pitch, shall we?"

Slytherin was really playing well, Harry thought as he scanned for the little gold ball. The loss of Millicent Bulstrode as Beater had been tough, but they'd recovered remarkably well from it. One day she had simply not appeared at the dormitory after class, and a day later Aurors were searching for her, to the puzzlement of all. Within days it began to filter out from god only knew where that she had been Parnassus McKay's "inside source" at Hogwarts, the one who had helped him carry out the original bond curse. There was a rumour that McKay was some kind of distant relation or something. Another rumour, even more nebulous than the first two, was that she had also been the one who'd sent the papers the picture of Harry and Draco that had prompted Lucius to disown Draco the first time.

Which was just plain  _weird_ , if it was true. Millicent had never seemed all that hostile to Draco - or to Harry, for that matter. She hadn't been terribly friendly either, but when one thought of "inside sources," one usually imagined mysterious, enigmatic figures who, once found out, caused everyone to kick themselves for not having guessed their shady doings. Or one thought of the type of "nobody would have ever suspected" angelic creature who caused complete shock as their nefarious secret identity was revealed.

The most universal response Millicent's unmasking as a secret agent of evil had engendered had been a resounding "Wha?"

Then again, just about everything that had happened this year in Slytherin house had been just plain weird, from Harry's point of view. Including the rather bizarre way that some political alliances had worked themselves out. Much of it had been rather ugly as well, as people flocked away from Voldemort and hastened to strengthen their new position by betraying friends and relatives still on the other side.

What a cowardly, self-serving thing to do, Harry had found himself thinking contemptuously every so often. And dutifully kicked himself every single time he did so, reminding himself that his own spouse had done the exact same thing.

By far the oddest chip that had fallen this year had involved Theo Nott, who, god only knew why, had suddenly declared himself an opponent of Voldemort. And gone on to vigorously defend Draco's right to remain Slytherin Seeker and his right to be counted as part of Slytherin house, even if he no longer lived among them. Assuming Nott's conversion was genuine, they'd probably never know what had prompted it - any more than they would ever be completely sure why Parnassus McKay had done what he had done, or how Lucius had managed to catch him.

Queenie Greengrass hadn't budged an inch. The Potter-Malfoy and Thomas-Davis pairings had survived till almost the end of the year, so far, but the Greengrass-Nott romance had died an unsightly death.

It was interesting, thought Harry as he tirelessly scanned the skies for the Snitch, how well the Slytherin team was playing despite all the internal conflicts in the house and on the team itself. Carmichael, with some prodding from Draco and Nott, had decided the line-up for the final game along political lines as much as along skill, and goaded his team into competing against each other to see who could deliver the best game they'd ever played. Carmichael, two of the Chasers, and Draco were on one side. The Beater who'd replaced Millicent, the third Chaser, and the Keeper were on the other side. And all of them were challenging each other to pull together and show what Slytherin House could do together, when push came to shove.

"Gryffindor's Ginny Weasley scores! It's 20-10 for Gryffindor, one more and Potter can stop dancing around the Snitch and try to catch it for real - and it's been sighted, again, both Seekers on their way - Black narrowly missing Gryffindor Chaser Frobisher, and he's in the lead - Potter fouls! Penalty to Gryffindor, Black does not look happy about that!"

"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco shouted angrily.

"Up yours, Black!" Harry shouted back, knowing how much Draco hated his new last name.

Though Lucius had disowned him again after their marriage, Narcissa had refused to follow her husband's example and had allowed Draco to keep some of his Black inheritance. The name, a respectably filled vault in Gringott's, a few small properties in Europe, that kind of thing. She refused to see her son, but at least she'd given him something. Which Harry knew meant a lot to Draco - coming to Harry penniless and completely dependent on him would have galled him - but didn't make Draco any fonder of the last name he was now forced to use.

The papers had carried rumours that the senior Malfoys had parted company over the issue of their son. Which Draco didn't comment on, and which Harry secretly hoped was true. Couldn't happen to a nicer couple, really.

"Gryffindor scores again! Gryffindor stands 30-10, the Gryffindor Keeper's putting in a stellar game - for once - and now we'll see who's got the best Seeker..."

A Seeker's Game of sorts, that's what it came down to in the end.

Actually, no - a Seeker's Game was what they had been playing so far, as Harry focussed on Draco instead of the Snitch. Draco's own game, and Harry had beaten him at it. Now they were back to Seeker versus Snitch, Harry's area of expertise. He put Draco out of his mind and concentrated all his will on catching any flicker of gold.

There!

Then he was diving, and Draco was too, and Smith couldn't keep up with them as they dodged over and under and around one another, months of working out together and knowing what the other felt making this incredibly intense. Harry could feel Draco's fierce concentration, his need to win, the lengths he was willing to go to, to get the little ball.

And his joy at this, the rush of air past him, the thrill of the challenge, the grip of the broom, the exhilaration and excitement.

Almost there...

Gryffindor scored again and dimly Harry heard wild cheering underneath them, and with a very small portion of his mind he registered that this was probably one of the best Quidditch games ever played at Hogwarts. Everybody was playing to their full potential - including Gryffindor's replacement Chasers - and Ginny, Ron, Carmichael, Harry and Draco had never flown better.

The little ball was teasing them both, suddenly turning and making them both swerve and almost flip off their brooms, avoiding a mid-air collision at the last possible moment, quickly getting back to the chase.

Almost there...

Harry reached out, felt the fluttering of the wings at the tips of his fingers, felt a fierce joy as the Snitch teased itself forward, and Draco was close enough to touch, and reaching forward, all of their mental energy focussed on the little ball...

Almost there...

The wings fluttered against his fingertips as he pushed his broom a tiny fraction closer and-

The little ball swerved just a hair's breadth to the right and he and Draco followed it, perfectly in tune with it and with each other, and then Draco's hand inched that tiniest measure closer and-

Harry felt the tickle of a small wing on his ring finger as Draco's hand closed around the body of the Snitch.

"Black catches the Snitch! Slytherin wins!" There was a moment of stunned silence before the stands erupted and Harry and Draco both pulled up and stared at each other in shock. And in the intense crushing disappointment of the moment, Harry felt a rush of exhilaration from Draco - that he'd finally done it, finally won, in a game, against the person he'd wanted to beat the most in seven years, and despite himself, a grin started to spread itself across his face. Draco just looked so stunned, staring at the Snitch in wonder, not even registering that the stands were filled with Slytherins - and other houses - who were cheering for  _him_.

He started to laugh as Draco looked up and gave him an almost apologetic look -  _Draco_ , looking a little sheepish that he'd beaten Harry at his best game - and clapped him on the back.

"You did it," he said, and Draco gave him a brilliant smile, and then Harry quickly flew backwards as the rest of the Slytherin team reached Draco to embrace him in victory.

He went back to his own team, flying down to the pitch somewhat more subdued than the Slytherins, but still somehow a little high. It had been too good a game for normal post-defeat dejection to set in.

"Rotten luck, Harry," said Ginny, and Harry gave her a smile.

"Slytherin's still in last place," Ron observed as the scores went up, and Harry turned to look.

_Hufflepuff_ _: 380_   
_Ravenclaw: 370_   
_Gryffindor: 250_   
_Slytherin: 220_

"Yeah." Harry grinned as they landed, and he clapped them all on the back, letting them know he appreciated their hard work - including Dean and Demelza, though he was careful to not touch their skin, as it was still rather moist and poisonous. Gave Hermione a hug, listening with half an ear and nodding as their fellow Gryffindors fell over themselves reassuring the team that they'd put in one of the most spectacular games  _ever_. He caught Ron's eye at one point, his half-grin that said more eloquently than any of them could, that it wasn't necessary. The sight of the crowd exiting the stands was reassurance enough on that score - their flushed faces, excited chatter, and the younger ones fairly bouncing in exhilaration and replaying some of the more dazzling moves with their hands.

That was that, then. His last Quidditch game at Hogwarts.

He started off for the changing room, undoing the tie on his hair and shaking it out, taking off his shin pads and tentatively moving his shoulder around a bit. Must've pulled it at some point during the game, he hadn't noticed it. And he was drenched with sweat. A long, hot shower would feel - he groaned to himself as he realized he'd forgotten to bring the box with the Quidditch balls to the hut, as the losing captain was supposed to do. Turned around to head back to the pitch.

"Mr. Potter?"

He looked around at the soft voice. There was somebody in the shade of the hut. He peered into the darkness and his eyebrows went up.

"Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Mr. Potter," she said, with the exact same look Harry had seen on her face the first time he'd ever seen her. The look of someone in the presence of some sort of noxious odour. Intensified as the door to the hut opened and Hermione came out, stifling a yelp of alarm and immediately moving to stand beside Harry when she saw who was with him.

"Do you - Draco's still out there, do you want me to-" Harry said, trying to keep his voice from showing too strongly his dislike of the woman who'd pretty much abandoned Draco. She had, after all, grudgingly allowed him to have her name and family money, and she was his mother.

"No, I don't want to see him. I... I probably shouldn't be here, my husband would be rather upset with me if he knew."

Husband. Not ex-husband. The rumours of their separation had been exaggerated. Pity. "Then why are you here?"

"I just wanted to know... how is he?" she asked stiffly.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"I can't." She drew herself up, shook her head. "I don't wish to."

Harry crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her in distaste. If she didn't want to talk to him, she could bloody well sit and wonder how he was doing.

"Are you... there have been rumours of what you will be doing once you are done school."

"There are always a lot of rumours," Hermione said neutrally.

"I won't ask if they're true. I just wanted to let you know... I don't believe the Dark Lord will be rising any time soon. He is biding his time, he's been hurt by the loss of his supporters."

"I can read the papers too," Harry said flatly.

"Be that as it may. I simply wish to ask you not to hurry trying to track him down."

Harry and Hermione kept their faces blank.

"You don't trust me," Narcissa said, mildly amused. "You believe that I'm on his side and want to delay you to give him time to regroup. I'm not."

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

"I want you to succeed, Mr. Potter. Because if the Dark Lord wins, he will not be kind to either my husband or my son. But I also want you to... try to be careful."

Harry stared at her.

"Try to wait until the bond is dampened down enough that Draco won't be too badly hurt if anything happens to you."

"I know enough to take care of my own spouse, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said coldly.

She opened her mouth for a sharp retort, then hesitated, and her face softened a bit. "Yes, I suppose you do." She glanced behind him as a group of people approached the Quidditch hut, and her eyes widened slightly. She glanced back at Harry, gave him a wintry little smile, and quickly melted back into the shadows behind the hut.

Harry and Hermione turned around, heading back to the pitch, and Harry smiled as Draco and his team approached on their way to the hut, ignoring the jeers from the other Slytherins as they passed by.

"Who was that?" Draco said, glancing towards the hut and giving him a quick kiss.

"Tell you later," Harry said. "Are you going to the victory party?"

"No, I don't think so. It's in Slytherin, and they're devolving into catfights already. I think it's going to be a little gruesome. Besides, I have some serious winnings to collect from our bet on the game, don't I?"

Harry grinned as Draco pulled him closer, letting Hermione go ahead and bringing his mouth close to Harry's ear, continuing sotto voce. "Let me see... first off I'll get out my Slytherin tie-"

"Have to find it first, won't you?"

"-but I'm having the worst time trying to decide where to go from there. Do I want you to start by talking dirty to me in Parseltongue, or go straight to that French spell Pansy told me about, or-" he stopped as Hermione turned around to see what was keeping Harry. "Hm... think I'll ask Granger to decide for me..."

Harry elbowed him warningly but couldn't suppress a grin and Draco smirked at him, his eyes sparkling with humour and affection.

"Oh." Hermione tilted her head, a curious expression on her face.

"What?"

"Deja vu - I've seen this before." She put her head to the side. "Exactly this, you two on the Quidditch pitch, smiling at each other, except I didn't recognize you at the time," she said to Draco. "It was in a vision, I think..."

"That's  _very_  useful, Granger, thank you," Draco scoffed. "A vision of two people smiling at each other. Do you think you could try to have visions that mean something, like who'll win the Quidditch World Cup?" He let go of Harry and went past them, taking off his own elbow pads as he went into the Quidditch hut. "See you back home?" he called over his shoulder.

"May as well just wait for me," Harry replied. "I'm getting the ball box and coming back to the hut. I need a shower."

"It was in the healing circle..." Hermione murmured, and Harry nodded absently, his mind on the ball box and the next few hours with Draco.

"Careful!" he heard someone shout, and with a sickening thud, the world went black.

**oooooo**

...the hell was that?

Harry swam back into awareness, finally focusing on something. The ceiling. The very familiar ceiling of... the hospital wing.

Damn, not again, was his first thought.

"You're awake," he heard a voice next to his ear. He turned and there was Draco, smiling at him.

"What happened?"

"Only you, Harry. Demelza was putting the Bludgers away but she's still a bit slimy. One of them slipped away and cracked you on the back of the head."

"How long was I out?"

"Not that long. Forty-five minutes or so."

Harry groaned.

"Still tender?"

"A little."

"You'll be fine," Draco said offhandedly, and smiled slightly.

"Still flushed from your success, I take it?"

"Mhhm." Draco seemed entirely too pleased with himself.

"Is that all?" Draco's grin widened. "Out with it."

"Well... while you were out, a scout from Puddlemere United had a little chat with me."

"What??" Harry sat up.

"Lie back down, I don't want you tossing your lunch onto my lap. Puddlemere United. Wants me for their Seeker."

"What??"

"How hard was that blow to the head?"

"That's... that's amazing," Harry said.

"Yeah." Draco sighed, a little wistfully. "Don't tell Weasley, will you? He'll be sulking for weeks."

"Won't he figure it out eventually-"

"Harry, don't be dense. I can't accept the job."

Harry bit his lip. No, he couldn't. Not with what they were planning on doing in the next few months, after school was done. Not with Harry about to go in for Auror training and then going to hunt down Voldemort. Flying above a stadium, vulnerable to anybody in a crowd of hundreds with a wand and a mission or a grudge, was probably not where the spouse of the Boy Who Was Going To Do For Voldemort should be. He would instead most probably go to the training position he'd already accepted in London, with a Potions master. And when he wasn't concentrating on that, they'd both be working on strengthening their bond magic and Blood Magic. It had already helped Draco get through the pain of his mark without too much psychic scarring. Hopefully it would also help Harry do what he needed to do as well.

But in a few years, maybe...

"Still. It's... it's amazing. To get an offer like that."

"You should've gotten it."

"You won the game," Harry said easily.

"That's not why they asked me and not you," Draco said, and Harry looked away uncomfortably. Draco chuckled. "We both know who's the better Seeker here," he said. "I'm good. Damn good, and if it wasn't for the war, I'd make a bloody good Seeker. But you're a force of nature."

Harry smiled at him. "You know... after we're... done... I mean, I don't know how long it'll take, but if you still wanted to-"

"Let's just survive the next year before we go planning life after that, all right?" Draco said, and gave him a kiss that started out merely affectionate but gained heat and intensity fairly quickly.

"Erm," Harry pulled away long enough to murmur as his body perked up with interest. "Should we be doing this - um - here?"

"Mhhhm... Pomfrey said you could - mm - um, go straight home as soon as you regained consciousness."

"Really?"

Draco pulled back slightly. "I believe her words were 'I've seen enough of Mr. Potter this year and he's got you to take care of him now. If I see either of you again, you'd best be at death's door or I'll put you there myself.'"

Harry laughed at Draco's dead-on portrayal of Pomfrey's brusque manner, then winced as his head gave a twinge.

"Draco?" Blaise entered the hospital wing and grinned at Harry when he saw he was awake. "How's the head?"

"That thick skull of his comes in handy once in a while," Draco smirked, still absently caressing the back of Harry's neck, and Blaise chuckled. One of the nicer outcomes of the Slytherin upheaval: Blaise's family had come down, hard, on their side, in large part because of Blaise. No more need for him to shun Draco in public.

"Well, good game, Potter," Blaise nodded, then turned to Draco excitedly. "Is it true? Puddlemere United talked to you?"

"Yeah."

"Merlin! Must've burned to turn them down." Harry reflected that it was sad, that he just assumed Draco wouldn't take the offer. "A few of the Hufflepuffs spotted the scout. They were taking bets on which seventh-year he was here for. D'you know a few of them actually bet they'd ask Potter? As if the world doesn't know what he'll be doing in the next little while."

"Didn't say a thing to me," Harry said.

"Well, I'll let Pansy know. She almost strangled herself trying not to scream when you caught the Snitch."

Draco smiled, albeit a little sadly. Pansy's family had remained unwavering in their allegiance to Voldemort. Ordered her away from Draco on pain of serious repercussions, and although Pansy knew her parents would never disown her, out of love for them and allegiance to Voldemort she had reluctantly cut her ties to Draco. The overt ones, at least.

"Hey, Potter," Blaise said. "Do what you have to, soon, all right? I want to see a game like that again."

"Yeah, we'll be sure to tell Voldemort he needs to let Harry do him in quickly, because he's got some important Quidditch to play," Draco said impatiently, and rolled his eyes as Blaise winced at the name. "Nice priorities, Blaise."

"What priorities?" Ron said as he and Ginny entered the hospital, smiling in relief at seeing Harry sitting up apparently none the worse for the Bludger to the head.

"Nothing, just saying it would be nice if our top priority was Quidditch," Harry said. "Or even just the NEWTs and finding a flat."

"I thought we'd found one," Draco said in surprise.

"We did?"

"The penthouse we saw last weekend in Islington? Woefully close to your ickle friends?"

"I thought you hated it."

"Well, that and being two floors up from your werewolf friend doesn't help either, but I didn't say I hated it, I just didn't hop up and down squealing 'Shiny!' It's actually right next to the best Potions supplier in England. It'll do for now, we can always move later."

"Oh yes," Ginny snickered. "You'll want a nice house with a large yard for your kids to play in."

Harry wrinkled his nose and Draco made a gagging sound, as Blaise and Ron laughed. "Excuse me, that's one of the nicer aspects of being disowned: I don't need to think about any of that unless I actually want to."

"So Harry," Ron said, "if you're all right, are you coming to the Tower? We're having a celebration."

"Of what?"

"Of not coming in dead last place," Ginny said with a smirk, and Blaise laughed. "You're welcome to come too," she said to Draco.

"Be still my heart."

"Unless you're going to your own house's party?"

"Don't have much to do with them any more," Draco said off-handedly. "You go ahead, Harry, I'll go get a book to read and come up later."

"Well, I do have much to do with Slytherin," said Blaise, "so I'm off to watch the bloodletting. I heard Queenie and Nott started early."

"Oh..." Draco smirked. "Now that I'd like to see."

"Apparently he already hexed her during the game. Flumen Mensanguina, she had to go home and change."

"That's  _my_  curse!" Draco said indignantly. "Plagiarising bastard."

"You go on ahead," Harry said to Ginny and Ron. "We'll catch up."

"Let's go, Fryggindors," Blaise said cheerfully, and Ron gave him a slap to the back of the head as they left the hospital wing. "Oi! Don't take it out on me that your team lost, Weasley!"

"Don't get a book, Draco," Harry said. "Join the party. I'll make it worth your while..." he ran his hand through Draco's hair sensuously, realizing his seductive technique probably needed some work as Draco smirked at him, amused and unseduced.

"You're going to do that anyway. I won the game, remember?"

Harry grinned. "Or maybe we can just skip the party and go straight to our place, so you can collect your winnings?"

Draco snickered. "So your friends can interrupt us in the middle of god only knows what, asking why you're not at their party? Not interested. Now, let's go to our place long enough for me to pick up a book, then go to the Tower for a couple of hours." He gave Harry a quick kiss and pulled him off the hospital bed. "We'll have plenty of time on our own after that."

They left the hospital wing and headed for home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting DVD Extras soon: techie stuff, a couple of deleted scenes (eg what happened in those "five hideous days" that Lucius activated Draco's Mark, whaddup with Draco's fling with Stephen Cornfoot), and a few more of those "weird little plotbunny prompted by a reviewer" things.
> 
> A million thanks to my betas. You would not believe how many weird turns of phrase, logic errors, and pointless meanderings the readers were spared, because of them. Thanks to Kyllikki, for patiently wearing down my aversion to BookFic in general and squeamishness about writing anything more explicit than a kiss, as well as my whole "HP characters having sex lives is just wrong wrong wrong" attitude, and poking and prodding until I finally caved and wrote enough HP smut to fill a football field ;) And for sticking with me as it grew, and grew, and grew. And to Jérémie, for stepping in and obsessively fiddling with certain scenes of the later chapters, thus improving them enormously. I owe you, big. And to Calíope Amphora for stepping in with wonderful, wonderful beta that pointed out a whooole bunch of loose threads from the last three chapters.

**Author's Note:**

>  **1** **:** Chibitoaster has made gorgeous illustrations that go along with this story.
> 
> Cover illustration is at
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/bond_cover_f.jpg
> 
> Ch 1, The Happy Newlyweds, is at
> 
> http://www.chibitoaster.com/bonded_ch1.jpg
> 
>  **2** **:** I really appreciate constructive criticism, and that includes feedback that points out grammar and spelling errors. I do want to point out two things, though:
> 
>  **i.** I use Canadian/British spellings. Mostly, this means that many words ending in -or (e.g. color, labor, ardor) are spelled -our instead (e.g. colour, labour, ardour). Many words ending in -ter (e.g. center, liter) end with -tre instead (e.g. centre, litre). There's a really cool website with comparisons of British, Canadian and American spellings at
> 
> www3 . telus . net / linguisticsissues / BritishCanadianAmerican . htm
> 
>  **ii.** When writing dialogue, I go for realism rather than strict grammatical correctness.
> 
> So, if you see a mispelled word that's mispelled due to incompetence and not Canadianism, or bad grammar that isn't part of dialogue or part of a thought-process-like passage, please please please point it out to me and I'll love you forever :)


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